


All Roads Lead Home (To You)

by Sapphylicious



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Crystal Tower Questline (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Light Dom/sub, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Porn with Feelings, Size Difference, Smut, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 39,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphylicious/pseuds/Sapphylicious
Summary: These are not the heroic tales of the Warrior of Light, but the mundane adventures, the painfully common trials of the heart, and the everyday aches and thrills that get lost between the lines of the epic. She can't help being a legend, but in front of some people she only wants to be herself.Named Miqo’te WoL, WoL/G'raha endgame, but WoL/Others for a handful of chapters because this fic is nothing if not self-indulgent.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light, Warrior of Light/Estinien Wyrmblood
Comments: 28
Kudos: 61





	1. Never Tried to Cross the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Crystal Tower interlude, WoL/G'raha UST.

_I never tried to cross the line_  
 _But in my mind did several times_  
— Tremble, Charlotte Martin

"X'sana! Welcome back!" Tataru gave a little hop with her hands in the air, radiating cheerfulness, and X'sana couldn't help but smile in turn. The warmth of receiving such an exuberant, heartfelt greeting was still something of a treasured novelty to her. 'Comrade' and 'friend' may have been plain titles next to the likes of 'Warrior of Light' or 'Hero of Eorzea,' but the simplicity of them suited her far better than the grand epithets of legend. Not to mention, they were much less embarrassing and less likely to draw a crowd when a stranger called out to her as such on the street.

"It hasn't been that long," she observed, steps slowing until she came to a stop in front of the receptionist. Close enough for conversation, distant enough to not strain the neck; one of many pieces of multiracial etiquette she'd had to learn after venturing beyond the tribe. "I see you've returned from Costa del Sol."

"Oh yes, and thank you again for your help. Speaking of which—just a moment!" Tataru scuttled behind her desk and began opening and closing drawers. The sounds of parchment being shuffled were occasionally punctuated by an ominous, heavy clank, which X'sana chose to believe was a paperweight for her own peace of mind. Finally, when Tataru emerged, she held something small and dangling from her closed fist. "Here you are!"

X'sana accepted the trinket, a familiar blood-red pearl strung on a length of braided leather. It was long enough for a necklace, but after a breathless beat of hesitation ( _could I perhaps—?_ ) she looped it into a bracelet that fit snug around her wrist. The sight of the twining cords, red orb glinting between, made long-buried yearning sprout anew. "This is..."

"What do you think? I made one for everyone with the pearls I harvested!"

A matching charm for everyone, all of her fellow Scions. Comrades, friends—dare she think of them as family? Oh, it wouldn't do to cry. Then she'd have to explain, and it was such a silly thing, a childhood fancy. Her lip trembled, but she turned it into a smile and bowed her head, hair falling forward in a curtain. "It's lovely, Tataru. Thank you."

Tataru's satisfied hum reached X'sana's ears. "Anyroad, is there anything I can do for you?"

The reminder brought X'sana's head up, blinking away the mist of past memories. "I was hoping to see Minfilia for a moment if she's not busy..."

"Truth be told, she could use a break. Go on in and I'll bring some tea."

"Thank you, but I won't be long. I have other matters to attend to in town."

Tataru eyed her critically. "Something tells me you could use a break, too." Before X'sana could start to sweat under the scrutiny, Tataru sighed and then shrugged. "I suppose there's no helping it when you're a celebrity. But take care of yourself, you hear?"

Warmed again by the concern, X'sana nodded wordlessly and excused herself to the solar, where she paused outside the door. She didn't often falter, but she didn't usually ask for favors, either. But surely it was okay between friends. She raised a hand to knock. "Minfilia? If I could have a moment of your time..."

"Of course, pray do come in."

Entering the solar, she was greeted by traces of a gently fragrant perfume. Back at the Waking Sands, desert lily had been the predominant note, and while it was still present in F'lhaminn's concoction, the scent now blended with others that X'sana could not easily place (and she was relieved to find that the salamander oil was not noticeable among them). The pleasant aroma eased her nerves and the tip of her tail curled in placid contentment.

"X'sana, yours is always a welcome visit." Minfilia rose from her seat only to immediately stop short with a wince. "Oh goodness, what time is it? I must have been sitting here for a while." She stretched her arms and rolled her shoulders, massaging the back of her neck.

"Time for a break, most certainly." X'sana started to wonder if perhaps she should linger after all. Worry pulled her in two different directions.

"Indeed, then your arrival is most fortuitous. I'll ask Tataru to bring some refreshments."

"Oh, I..." Now she'd done it, putting herself on the spot. Minfilia waited patiently for her to continue and X'sana found her answer with surprisingly little hesitation in the end. "I actually have a small request. That headache remedy of yours, might I ask for some of it?"

"Is that all?" She smiled and some of the fatigue withdrew from her face. "Of course, I always keep the herbs stocked. Just a moment, I'll write down the recipe for you as well." Minfilia plucked a stray piece of parchment from her desk and set to listing the ingredients with quick strokes of her quill. She shook her head ruefully. "I should have given this to you earlier. A dear friend of mine came up with it, something to ease a migraine without troubling a healer. Oh, and if you don't have time for the infusion to steep, it can also be prepared as a tea for a little relief." She finished jotting down the recipe and set it aside to allow the ink to dry. "There we go. I do hope that the Echo isn't troubling you overmuch? Have you noticed any changes?"

"If anything, I am adjusting much better to the... episodes," X'sana admitted. And seeing farther back into the past. Much, much farther. The thought of the Echo's power stretching even beyond that was... unsettling, somehow. Like she was staring down a long, dark tunnel, which led not to an endless void but to something or someplace ancient beyond reckoning, and what waited at the end was familiar, yet not, in a way that she ought to know but didn't. And she would only find out what it was by venturing forth into the darkness.

Despite the comforting warmth, scents, and sounds of the solar, she shivered.

"I'm relieved to hear that," Minfilia said, gently and with a watchful, knowing gaze. She placed a pouch of fresh-smelling herbs in X'sana's palm and closed her fingers around it, cupping her hand. "Take heart and know that you are not alone. If there's anything else I can do, pray do not hesitate to ask."

A glimmer of red caught X'sana's eye, one that matched the pearl strung around her wrist. Minfilia's charm was woven into the hair braided by her ear, a gleam of red amongst plaits of gold, and for the second time that day X'sana fought back a swell of inexplicable tears. "Thank you," she said, the two simple words cutting through the wave of emotion, expressing her gratitude for the herbs and so much more.

* * *

The gloomy skies of Mor Dhona were darkening into night by the time she set out for the camp, headache remedy safely tucked away and her chocobo laden with other supplies from Revenant's Toll besides. She'd bought food and new gear to start, plus a laundry list of items Cid requested to facilitate their work on opening the voidgate, and then potions and ethers to replenish the stock the team had used up after Syrcus Tower and all that entailed. Altogether, it made for a rather large haul that had almost necessitated two trips. Luckily, the ride was short and blessedly uneventful.

After arriving, X'sana took the time to tend to her bird, ensuring that Myrrhi was fed and watered and groomed, but left the unpacking to the others once she noted the absence of a red shock of hair in their midst. She made her way through the camp to where a meal was stewing over the cookfire, and along with it, an already steaming kettle. Helping herself to a clean mug, she portioned out half a spoonful of Minfilia's herbs and let them steep in the hot water until the tea was brewed. Thus armed, she approached G'raha's tent.

With Revenant's Toll nearby, most of the expedition's members initially preferred to make use of the settlement's accommodations; humble though they were, they were a step up from camping in the bleak and barren wilderness. Given the urgency of the present situation, though, and the addition of the engineers, more and more were making do with the camp, working tirelessly throughout the day and falling exhausted into their bedrolls at night. In G'raha's case, he had more often than not chosen to remain here from the start. X'sana suspected that he'd been keen to be near the Tower. He would simply gaze at it sometimes, brow creased as if puzzling through a conundrum, in rare moments of quiet and stillness.

"G'raha?" she called, hoping she wasn't disturbing him. Her worries were soon put to rest when a flurry of activity came from within.

"Yes? Just a—just a moment!" A telltale crinkle of pages and a small thump of something hitting the ground, followed by a low murmur of, "Thaliak, preserve me," and some hurried scuffling. By the time he tugged the tent flap open, X'sana was wearing a grin to greet his flustered appearance. Some of the amusement faded, however, when he flinched at the bustling sights and sounds from behind her. Still, he drew up his best attempt at a smile. "It's later than I thought. Have you only just returned?"

"Yes. This is for you." She pushed the steaming mug towards him and for a moment their hands overlapped. It was nothing like the easy comfort of Minfilia's soft touch, the width of his handspan and the rough calluses on his draw fingers bringing to mind other associations, the sort that made her face burn. She withdrew her hands as soon as it was safe to do so, clasping them together to keep them out of trouble. "It should help—with your headache I mean. Or is it just the eye? I should have asked, I just assumed it was like—oh, bugger." She drooped, ears and all, and stared hard at the ground as if that alone could move the earth to swallow her. Alas, she'd never had much of a knack for magic or commanding the elements.

"...Thank you," she heard him say, her ears swiveling to catch the nuance of his tone. Gratitude and... and something that shied away from description, a rabbit going down into a burrow and X'sana wasn't sure if she should follow it. But she could meet his eyes at least, a brief glimpse of bright aqua and striking red peeking out from behind his fringe before he tipped the mug back.

"It doesn't taste very good," she hurried to warn, recalling the first time Minfilia had offered her the infusion and the way X'sana sputtered like a fussy, ungrateful toddler at the first sip.

To her jaw-dropping surprise, his throat bobbed smoothly around the pungent drink as it went down without so much as a hitch, not a trace of the coughing or choking she expected. Lowering the brim of the mug, he caught her awestruck look and flashed a maddening grin. "Not bad," he assessed, going so far as to smack his lips and that was the final straw.

Dragging her attention away from playful curves of his mouth, X'sana reached for the mug. "Either you have no taste buds or I made that wrong, I need to check—"

G'raha laughed and pulled it away from her grasping hands. "I assure you, there's nothing wrong with my sense of taste nor any need to subject yourself to an experiment. I'm simply inured to such concoctions. It's something of an acquired trait in Sharlayan—and with that likeness in mind, I'm sure this will have me feeling better in no time."

Not entirely convinced, X'sana reasoned under her breath, "I suppose the tea would be less potent compared to the infusion..." But she relented because she didn't particularly want to test her theory. Instead, her ears flicked to the noise of dinner being served behind her and her nose caught the savory aroma of stewed, fatty meat and simmered vegetables. "Wait here, I'll bring you a bowl so you needn't trouble yourself."

"You're the one who needn't—oh, hells." He could do nothing to stop her as she trotted over to those gathered around the food. They made way for her without question or complaint (fame _did_ have some perks) and she soon returned with a steaming bowl. G'raha sighed and grudgingly accepted it, the very picture of reluctance save for the telltale twitch of his nose as the mouthwatering scent wafted up. "And what about you, O Mothering Hero?" He poked her arm with the spoon.

"I ate before leaving the Rising Stones. Trust me, a very insistent Lalafell made sure of it."

"Hm. That makes it awkward to invite you to eat with me." He brought the spoon to his lips, tapping against them thoughtfully, and there was the godsawful distraction again. The words and the action both. And the answering flip-flop of maybe-yes, maybe-no in her that pulled in opposite directions, which had grown more distinct over the course of the expedition. The attraction itself wasn't anything out of the ordinary, and oh, how simple this would be if it was only that. "Well," he said with a shrug of his shoulders and a hopeful smile that plucked something in her like a note from a string. "Join me anyway?"

The smart thing would be to refuse, put some distance between them, give herself the space to breathe and clear her head before she did something she would regret.

Unfortunately, X'sana had never been taught how to retreat.

"If it's no bother, then after you," she said, making a sweeping gesture.

G'raha followed her lead with a put-upon air, tail lashing theatrically. "To be treated as a guest within _my own_ tent..."

As soon as she stepped inside, X'sana almost tripped over a pile of books that had been hastily stacked near the opening. She lifted a brow at them, but after getting a look at the rest of the place she had to concede that there was little alternative. A library's worth of books were piled and stacked all along the tent's walls, leaving scant room for a folding desk and chair, a travel trunk, and a rumpled bedroll. She almost missed his bow and quiver propped up against the portable heater, which seemed like a fire hazard, and she shook her head with suppressed laughter.

For his part, G'raha appeared much chagrined by the state of his dwelling. "I don't suppose you would believe me if I said it's not usually like this?"

X'sana outright cackled.

Pouting, he made a limp gesture to the lone chair. "Please, take a seat."

"What, and you'll just eat standing up?" She plopped herself down on the floor next to the heater where it wasn't so cold, tail curling close to her body, and relocated his quiver and bow while she was at it. It would be a shame if her scatterbrained friend went up in flames in the middle of the night.

"Forgive me for being a terrible host," he said in defeat, sinking into the chair with his bowl clutched in one hand, and using the other to sullenly spoon up chunks of meat and broth. "But mark my words, I will make amends for this someday."

"Then I'll look forward to it." She tilted her head sideways to read the spines of the nearest stack of books. Dense titles, one after another, which she could hardly make heads nor tails of. Studying had never been her forte. The reams of text between the covers were of no interest to her, but if she asked, she knew that G'raha would happily launch into an animated summary and interpretation, spinning it like a tale and digging out questions, and that was something she could watch and listen to for hours. Reading dried up lines on a page was nothing compared to reading the flux and flow of emotion on his face, soaking in the life he breathed into each spoken word.

X'sana would never forgive herself if that boundless life and burning passion of his ever dimmed on her account. He _cared_ —about all manner of things. Deeply and recklessly. She knew not how to approach without one of them getting hurt and so it was better not to cross that line. Even if he did have the most damnably distracting mouth.

Which left her greedy for his friendship, for the parts of his life that might be safe to traverse. The tips of her fingers skipped their way across various book covers, some old and weathered, others more recently bound, each of them well read. She stopped on a title that was decidedly thaumaturgic in nature and commented, "I've never seen you use this kind of magic."

"Ah," he said, straightening up a bit. "I'm not very far in my studies. I'm learning conjury and thaumaturgy both, actually. It's useful knowledge in the field, and hands-on experience is even better, though I fear I'll never be an expert." With a wistful sigh, he lamented, "Would that I had time to learn everything."

"You Sharlayans and your learning," she teased.

He sent her a challenging look. "Says the woman who's taken up—how many disciplines of war are you at now? Five?"

"Four." She rolled her eyes. "And I'm a complete novice with a lance and only passable with a bow. You could help me practice."

"Oh, I—of course! I would be honored."

"You say that now," she muttered, because if anything she'd been overstating her archery skills. All members of the X tribe learned to hunt, but in her case, she would set a few traps and then spend the time training. Her contributions might have been fewer, but no one had expected differently from "poor stock" fathered by a Tia, and an unknown outsider at that. It must have been pity, others whispered, or lingering attachment to her mother that moved X'zhul Nunh to train her in his way of fist and claw. By the time it became known that she was his best pupil, X'sana had her sights set elsewhere on the horizon and was soon off on an adventure, a sprawling journey from sun-beaten desert to shining sea and shadowed forest, all of which had led her right here to this cramped, cozy tent in the central wastelands. Who knew where this path would lead her tomorrow?

Once again, her wandering fingers came to rest upon a book, this one small and leatherbound with no title, clasped shut. A notebook rather than a scholarly text, but—X'sana would bet—written by a certain scholar's hand.

"Ahem," G'raha cleared his throat, cheeks slightly pink. "Those are merely... observations of—of the Tower, and they're a bit of a mess right now so I'm afraid they don't make for good reading."

"Oh? Now I'm intrigued." She traced the edge of the snap clasp, sliding a finger under the strap to guiltily enjoy the way his gaze was riveted to the tiny movement. _Better not to cross that line._ "...But fine, keep your secrets. Twelve know if anyone can decipher the Crystal Tower, it's you." She made to hand over the mysterious notebook that he clearly wanted to squirrel away, and in doing so, a small, gleaming object slipped from its pages. X'sana caught it and stared down at what appeared to be a pristine Allagan gold piece nestled in her palm.

"So that's where that went!" The notebook vanished from her grasp, he was quick to hide whatever was in there, but the gold piece seemed less in need of rescuing. G'raha leaned forward in ready expectation, tail twitching in eager flicks behind him. "Can you tell what that is?"

There was a trick question if she ever heard one. X'sana held the coin up to the glow of the lamp, but she was no trained appraiser. "I'm guessing it's _not_ a remarkably mint condition Allagan gold piece?"

"In a manner of speaking, it is." He adopted that teaching tone of his, somewhere between cocksure know-it-all and genuinely wise. Gods help her, but she found it endearing. "An ancient counterfeit to be exact, which despite being false, also makes it authentically valuable. It's a very good fake, perfect diameter, seamless coating, and with a weight that meets the official standard. You can even see test cuts that appear to pass as gold."

X'sana examined the coin, finding one of the small nicks at the edge that betrayed no sign of a base metal core. "All right, Mr. Historian, then what gives this coin away?"

G'raha dug around in one pocket, then another, and eventually produced a loupe that he tossed for her to catch. She first stared at it, then at him, and when he continued to grin at her she grumbled, " _Sharlayans_ ," and raised the magnifying glass to her eye.

She'd traded more than a few ancient coins for gil throughout her adventures, but she'd never had cause to scrutinize their engravings or even test them for authenticity. For all she knew, she'd handed off half a dozen fakes with no one the wiser. Was it the seeming newness that marked it as a counterfeit? But she didn't need the loupe to detect that. Whatever it was, he expected her to recognize it.

The test cuts drew her attention as she wondered how the trick worked, and then she saw it. Or the lack of it. The gold plating where the coin was cut was too smooth, bearing none of the miniscule abrasions of being chiseled into. It was an intricately made forgery, to be sure, but not quite detailed enough. "The cuts were part of the mold. Who would put so much effort into something that could so easily fail? Wouldn't a fresh cut make it immediately obvious?" She frowned at the coin and pretended not to notice his attention, the way he brightened in pleasure at her response.

"The problem is never just the one that gets caught, it's the thousands that might have slipped through, which leads to price inflation, civil unrest, not to mention angry, uncompensated merchants. There's a reason why the penalties for counterfeiting in Ul'dah are particularly harsh." She winced at the picture his explanation painted. "But, lest you worry about your own exchanges, such a thing was never a major issue for Allag as far as we've been able to find. Fake coins like this one are rare."

"I see." She turned the coin around in her fingers and walked it across the backs of her knuckles, gold flashing. One of many amusing little tricks she'd picked up at the Dutiful Sisters. With a flick of her thumb, the piece spun up into the air before tumbling back down into her waiting hand, where she presented the coin for G'raha to retrieve.

His fingers brushed her palm, almost ticklish with how lightly they touched, and then they lingered so very briefly she could entertain the idea that it was accidental, the way he slid them along hers. They were sitting very close, she suddenly realized. If she leaned over she'd be pressing against his leg, the thick leather of his greaves cast aside to offer a suggestion of muscle under the remaining linen.

So hyperfocused was she on the scant bit of space between them that the sudden closing of his fingers around hers made her tail jerk and start to bristle, and she barely swallowed a yelp.

"Is that...? No, it's somewhat different. By any chance—are you all right?" He blinked, startled by whatever face she was making. X'sana felt like she was burning from the neck up so it must have been a sight.

"I'm fine! I just—" She made a vague, unhelpful gesture, unable to cover her face because _he was still holding her hand_. "What—what were you saying? My attention wandered."

There was a short pause as he chose to accept her excuse, for which she was grateful, and then he tapped her wrist. Or rather, the charm bracelet wrapped around it. "You didn't have this before. It resembles something from my tribe, so I was curious. I apologize for being, ah, forward."

He released her hand then, and she was both relieved and disappointed. "O-oh. 'Twas a gift from a friend at the Rising Stones. A protective charm, she said." Her fingers wrapped around the braided leather, anchoring herself. "...But my tribe also has something like it."

"Is that so?" The upward note of intellectual interest in his voice brought a soft sense of familiarity to her. She smiled slightly.

"Mm. Siblings who share a father are each given one with a stone cut from the same rock, so they are unified. Supposedly, they can also share each other's strength through it." Not that she would know, and in the end she hadn't needed to rely on anyone else to prove herself. But there had been a time, long ago, when she had yearned for that small bit of proof that she belonged. It was a silly, childhood dream. A dream she never thought would come true. The smooth bump of the pearl under her fingers was proof enough and more. "So, how is it different in the G tribe?"

"I originally thought of it as a trend," he said, head tipped back thoughtfully. "But it may be rooted in tradition after all. You see, similarly woven bracelets are popular among the girls, though a blood connection isn't mandatory. Instead, they gather tokens—bone or wood carvings, glass baubles, that sort of thing—from friends, family, or admirers. The more your wrist rattles, the more popular you are." The corner of his mouth twitched upward and he slanted a crooked grin at her. "I daresay you'd need more than one bracelet."

She snorted. "Hardly. I have a family of one, the Scions are all accounted for, and I can't picture myself exchanging cute friendship charms with the Alliance leaders or my guildmasters." As for potential admirers... she wasn't going to go there. _Better not to cross..._

G'raha's ears did an indecipherable dance atop his head, up and down, forward and back. "Come now, surely you've made the acquaintance of other trustworthy companions on your adventures?"

"Well..." She lowered her gaze, fiddling with the pearl that was the sole adornment on her bracelet. "I suppose there is... someone who comes to mind."

"Yes?" he prompted hopefully.

"That person..."

"That person?"

"...Could only be Cid." X'sana gave a firm nod. "Yes, I would most certainly count Cid amongst my most trusted companions."

She took one look at G'raha face and it was almost criminal how utterly dejected he appeared, with low drooping ears and big, betrayed eyes. X'sana was unable to smother the sudden "Pfft" that exploded into laughter, gales of it, and she gave in and leaned sideways against him, cheek pressed above his knee. "Of _course_ I count you as a dear friend, G'raha Tia. You need not ever doubt that. Oh, I can't believe you fell for it..."

She could see his fluffed-up tail lashing and the tension in him was palpable where they touched. " _Pray forgive_ my insecurity before the _literal Hero of Eorzea_."

"A hero of happenstance," she said, waving away the title. "I am 'poor stock' from a parched desert who learned to make do with whatever life threw at me. No siblings, no friends, not until the Scions picked me up. So naturally, I would fight for them. Wouldn't you have done the same?"

He was quiet for a bit, and she wondered about the expression on his face. About the thoughts in his head. After a while, his hand came to rest on her hair, somewhat hesitantly. He made no further movement but the touch felt nice and she was growing tired, so she bunted up into it, and received a light pet. "What you call happenstance," he said, voice contemplative, "others would call destiny."

"I'm not inclined towards anything so grand as that."

"Nevertheless," G'raha insisted softly, with gentle stroking motions between her ears that encouraged her eyes to fall shut, "destiny has a way of finding us."

* * *

X'sana woke to the nearby sounds of the camp stirring to life. Voices and footsteps mostly, and water being splashed, but the clank and jangle of equipment would soon join in. Everyone got moving as soon as the sun was up and breakfast was always on a short time frame, so she began to wriggle herself loose from her curled sleeping position.

She hadn't expected to be huddled up close to someone else.

Staring at tousled red hair, the notched markings on either side of his nose, and that full, relaxed mouth, it finally dawned on X'sana that she was not in her own bedroll.

Every muscle in her body locked up and for a moment she even ceased to breathe, hastily casting her memory back to the previous night. She'd brought him the tea for his headache, and dinner, and they'd talked. And then... then she must have fallen asleep. Somehow. X'sana was not in the habit of falling asleep just anywhere, it usually wasn't safe, or familiar, or—it just wasn't something she did. But apparently, last night, she had.

Well. At least that meant she hadn't flagrantly invited herself into his bedroll. G'raha must have moved her, which was... only slightly less embarrassing.

She was tucked in warm and cozy, and he only had a thin blanket covering him, of all the ridiculous situations. He had better not get sick because of this uncalled-for gallantry.

With glacial slowness, she reached out her hand, finger extended to lightly brush aside the thick fall of his hair. Loose locks had come free of his braid and she _itched_ to comb through them, mustering up no small amount of willpower to stave off the impulse. Before she could compose herself to clinically press her hand to his forehead and check for signs of fever, his copper lashes fluttered.

X'sana froze. She waited with the stillness and bated breath of one waiting for the sun to rise after a long, dark night, unable to look elsewhere even though that first, glorious glimpse would burn to behold. Seconds passed, measured in heartbeats, and the moment came with a soft exhale and a languid, sleep-heavy gaze that wandered unfocused until settling on her, the thin black slashes of his pupils expanding in contentment. The corners of his mouth tucked upward and his voice husked around the words, "Good morning."

Her own mouth was too dry to utter a reply, but she squeaked when his hand curled around the side of her face, cradling the back of her head. He pulled her close and for a brief second she thought he was going to kiss her.

She would have been less shocked if he had.

G'raha bumped his forehead against hers and she couldn't tell if the heat where they touched came from her or from him, but then it didn't matter because he rubbed his cheek along her hairline and her entire face flamed. Astral fire trailed the path he nuzzled from her temple to the top of her head, mussing her hair, and all she could smell was him. Her nose was just about pressed to his neck, breathing in male Miqo'te and his new-leather, old-parchment scent, that of a scholar recently traveled from distant Sharlayan whose Archon tattoos were still fresh on his skin. He smelled of such promise, and X'sana realized with a sharp, dizzying inhale that his scent was _on her, everywhere,_ and no one besides her mother had ever done this, shown her their affection in this way. It was uniquely Miqo'te, and she'd been close to no others.

Perhaps, if she'd remained in her tribe, she'd have experienced it. By now she would most likely have been accepted by whoever ended up Nunh. But instead she had walked away from them all, same as her mother had once done, and for the first time X'sana wondered if this was how her otherwise indomitable mother had felt about the father she'd never met. If this was the same weakness, the same wanting, the same reasons why she should not, which were becoming harder and harder to grasp. Suddenly, she wanted to go home and ask.

In lieu of that, she struggled to say something to G'raha, but the words wouldn't come. They tangled up in her throat. She wanted to move, maybe reach for him, but her limbs wouldn't obey. It was all she could do to _feel_ , attuned to the slight catch of his lips in her hair and his breath skimming her ear. Involuntarily, the affected ear twitched, and the sensation of teeth closing gently around the delicate flap finally wrenched a gasp of, " _ah_ ," from her aching lungs.

Then, a voice boomed from outside the tent: "G'raha, wake up! We made a breakthrough with the voidgate overnight, hurry and get over to the Tower! I'll send X'sana along as soon as I find her."

And just like that, they both sprung malms apart.

Hand pressed to her thundering heart, X'sana became aware of her linkpearl pinging. A call from Cid. She ignored it for now, having indirectly received the message.

Meanwhile, G'raha was looking anywhere but her and babbling, "By the Twelve, I am _so_ sorry, that was unconscionably discourteous of me and I beg your forgiveness. To say I was half-asleep or still dreaming is a poor excuse, I can only swear that it won't happen again, I _swear_ it."

X'sana didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She rubbed her face and took a deep breath, then another, and somehow mastered her ability to speak without falling to pieces. "Later. We'll talk about this later. For now, let's meet up with the others."

He nodded furiously. "Right, of course. To the Crystal Tower then."

* * *

"Later," it turned out, was too late.

The Tower's darkened halls hummed with ancient life—life that G'raha alone now controlled, and he stood on the other side of the threshold, bidding them to come no further. How strange the reversal, how sharp the irony, when all this time X'sana thought she would be the one to draw the line in the sand. The ugly edge of her own hubris was a knife between the ribs and left her bleeding helplessly as G'raha unveiled his plan.

The idea was madness, was her first reaction. Sealing the Crystal Tower and himself along with it—for how long? What if he woke up alone in a strange world? What if he never woke at all?

She would have joined her voice with Cid's in protest, but G'raha's scarlet gaze halted the words on her tongue. It was a gaze full of purpose, the weight of which even she bearing all of her strength could not have moved, and the wholehearted faith brimming in his eyes was something she could not bring herself to disclaim. She could only hold back the shapeless sense of loss as his words washed over her, unbearably gentle and bright with hope.

The immense doors began to rumble shut. The footsteps of her friends retreated while she lingered to commit to memory the sight of his back, the turn of his head. A quick motion of his arm precursed the glimmer of something sailing through the shrinking gap between the doors and her hands closed around to catch it, opening to reveal the Allagan gold piece cupped in her palms.

"A token," he said with the smile of a fleeting instant, "of admiration. Should you see fit to wear it."

The echo of his voice was carried on the final bang of the doors meeting in the middle, which turned all that followed to silence.

Her fingers curled around the coin. It had changed slightly since she last saw it with a small, exact hole punched through near the edge, revealing the base metal under the thin layer of gold. A false promise, but authentically precious at the same time.

X'sana plucked at the cords of her bracelet, trying to loosen them, but the minute trembling of her fingers put the simple task out of her reach. She gave up for time being, clutching the coin. Then she took a step forward.

The gleaming crystal spire soared far above her head, its solid doors now an impenetrable wall, cool to the touch under her raised hand and then the press of her forehead. She turned her face to feel the smooth, unyielding crystal under her cheek. Through the thick presence of aether, she could still faintly smell him on her.

But unfortunately, it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to write face nuzzling and this is what came out. Also, hi, after years of "I don't know, MMOs are not my thing" I finally got pulled into FFXIV hell and now I would die for the Most Wonderful Catboy in the World.
> 
> More pairings to come, probably going to write some HW stuff next, rating will go up. :3


	2. Je t'adore, t'adore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WoL/Haurchefant, obligatory hearth fic.
> 
>  **Explicit** for smut and that good Miqo'te/Elezen size difference. (¬‿¬) So size kink, obviously, and some praise and dirty talk and, uhh, little bit of distension.
> 
> Also emotional whiplash maybe?

_Je t'adore, t'adore (I love you, adore you)_  
— Je t'Adore, Eurielle

There was something comforting about stepping into Camp Dragonhead—or as comforting as could be when X'sana was cloaked in a crust of snow, face numb from the pelting, frozen wind of the highlands. The blizzard had caught her as she was leaving the Aurum Vale, and one would think that the first excursion into that noxious place was enough for anybody, but when a distraught mother had begged for someone to save her overambitious son, X'sana could not leave well enough alone. At least it had been a quick rescue, the fool hadn't managed to get far. But she'd still come out of the mine stinking of blood and sulfurous fumes, which made her think twice before teleporting straight into the Ishgard Aetheryte Plaza. Alphinaud had impressed upon her the need to conduct themselves respectably as wards of House Fortemps, and X'sana suspected that showing up at the manor like this would upset him as well as the many genteel nobles of the Pillars.

The soldiers stationed at Camp Dragonhead, on the other hand, simply gave her pitying looks (and a wide berth). At least the stone ramparts blocked the wind and she could knock chunks of ice from her shoulders and chocobo without it reaccumulating immediately. The chocobokeep promptly took charge of the bird and shooed X'sana away, worried that the smell would pervade the rest of the stable.

It wasn't the Pillars, but X'sana still hesitated for a beat before crossing the threshold into the commander's office. She didn't consider herself overly concerned about appearances, but there was "not concerned" and then there was "up to her elbows in Morbol."

Considering who she was dealing with, though, she needn't have worried. Haurchefant glanced up at her entrance, merely curious at first, and then a wide smile made his face positively glow in the firelight. "Welcome, dear friend! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"An impromptu trip into the Aurum Vale and the consequences thereof." She gestured at herself while maintaining a considerate distance away. "I was hoping I could take advantage of your amenities before returning to Ishgard."

"Of course! A warm hearth is always waiting for you here. Pray, rest a while if you've no pressing business."

All she needed was a bath and change of clothes, perhaps a warm drink. But the utilitarian nature of the encampment put her more at ease than the grand manor back in Ishgard. "My thanks. I believe I shall take you up on that."

* * *

The communal barracks would have sufficed, but instead X'sana was led to the commander's personal quarters. Rather unsurprising, actually, in retrospect. With a wry expression, she accepted her lot and thanked her escort. If Haurchefant didn't mind the lingering stink of the Vale in his bedroom, so be it.

Her first order of business was a bath in the adjoining private washroom. Peeling out of her wet, stinking armor was its own unique experience, and she woefully contemplated whether any of it was salvageable. Last time she'd had to burn everything.

As the tub filled and steam began to warm the room, X'sana decided the matter of her clothes could wait. She left everything in a sodden pile on the floor and stepped eagerly into the rising water. For someone of her size, the bathtub might as well have been a pool, and after tugging her hair loose she sank gratefully into the pleasant heat until the water lapped at her chin.

She spent the first few minutes simply warming up, swishing the water in gentle motions and luxuriating in the weightless cradle of it around her. Coerthas may have been the most horrible frozen wasteland she'd ever had the misfortune to schlep through, unforgiving in both environment and people, but for now she could momentarily banish her loathing of the climate. And despite an initially rough time, she'd grown fond of the people. Some of them were certainly fond of her, and had been right from the start.

X'sana tipped her head back with a lazy, curling smile of remembrance, and began to scrub the worst of the blood and grime away. Thinking back, Haurchefant's unconventionally glad reception of a harried, shivering adventurer on a roundabout search for an airship had been almost _un_ welcome at the beginning; she'd been in no mood for games and his unabashed regard had seemed passing strange at the time. But regardless of his eccentricities, he'd quickly proven to be a true and dear friend. And just now, to be honest, she could have teleported to Ishgard and cleaned up at the Forgotten Knight without offending any noble sensibilities, but a ghost of a reason gave her an excuse to stop by Camp Dragonhead.

As generous and accommodating as the Fortemps manor was, it was just a bit much sometimes for a sand-strewn desert cat like her. Alphinaud fit right in with his dignified manners and elegant looks, and then there was her, all rugged leathers and wind-chapped skin, looking more of a brigand than anything amidst such a backdrop of finery. Much easier to be among the working men and women stationed at the outpost. Much easier to stand shoulder to shoulder (or shoulder to elbow in this case) with someone who was similarly welcomed and claimed by the family, but didn't quite fit in with the noblest of lords nonetheless.

Or mayhap she was just projecting. She only knew that while Lord Haurchefant's praises were sung in the highlands, and he was respected in his capacity as commander among the other nobles, in polite conversation they would notably avoid any mention of his personal relationship to House Fortemps. As for other conversations, one night a slightly sozzled Tataru had grumbled into her mulled wine about, "bloody posturin' bluebloods, if they come 'round again I'll show 'em who's the real bastard."

X'sana had tried to pry more information out of her, and when that failed she went to Gibrillont, who only shook his head and told her, "Never you mind, it's shite talk out of a Goobbue's ass is all. Nothing good will come out of investigating that."

She had let it pass, but only because she didn't want to trouble House Fortemps by being called to stand at the Tribunal for breaking some aristocratic kneecaps and noses.

Once she'd finished washing, the bathwater had turned a rather unmentionable shade of dirt and worse. The mess was emptied out and then she refilled the tub to have a clean, proper soak, the malodorous remnants of the Vale replaced by the lush, evergreen scent of Haurchefant's soap. It brought to mind the scenic vistas of the snowy highlands, from the few times she could enjoy them instead of bitterly cursing the wretched cold. The land _was_ beautiful in a harsh, forbidding way, carved of dark mountain stone and shining white ice. In terms of severity, it was not unlike her own birthplace of red sands and stacked cliffs.

She stayed in the bath until the water cooled and her skin pruned, then faced the conundrum of having nothing clean to wear. Wrapped in a large towel, she ventured out of the washroom and found that someone had stopped by to bring a covered tray of food and mug of hot cocoa, and the fire had been stoked to liveliness, but there was no change of clothes to be seen. Given the thoughtfulness of everything else, X'sana suspected this was not an oversight.

Well, fine. She was a grown woman and could play along. Though she did have to take a moment and collect herself before mustering the audacity to rummage through someone else’s wardrobe.

Her hands sank into thick wool tunics and heavy fur surcoats, less ornate than what she saw at the Pillars, but they hadn't been purchased on a commoner's coin either. Everything was, of course, comically large for her, and she selected a simple linen shirt that may as well have been a dress. She had to tie the excess length of the sleeves to keep them from flopping over her hands so she could eat.

It turned out that she was ravenous, and she dug into the roasted, crisp-skinned meat with relish, toes curling in delight—not to mention relief at only having a single knife and fork to contend with. Few things made her more nervous than dining with nobility. Here, she didn't have to worry about which utensil to use, didn't have to slice neat, bite-sized portions, and if she had grease on her chin, who cared? She stabbed her fork into a caramelized leek and kicked her feet happily.

The cocoa was smooth, rich, and lightly spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg; undoubtedly Haurchefant's work, no one else seemed to prepare it the way he did. X'sana smiled at the thought of him taking a break from his duties just to make a drink for her.

Afterwards, she wound up settling in front of the fireplace, belly full and wrapped in a throw blanket stolen off the bed, content enough to doze despite the unfamiliar surroundings. It was some time before the door opened and she blinked back to alertness.

"I hope I haven't caused any inconvenience," she said, having lost track of time but at least a few bells had passed.

Haurchefant waved away her concern. "Never, my friend. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same of the Dravanian Horde."

X'sana sat up straighter. "Was there an attack?"

"A patrol was caught in a small skirmish, 'twas over by the time we received word. The injured are taken care of and we had no losses, thank Halone." He stripped off his gauntlets and began to work on the rest of his armor, pausing only to send her a good-humored smile. "By the way, I received a rather urgent call from young Alphinaud. From the sound of it, he was ready to turn the city upside down in search of you."

Her hand flew to where her linkpearl should be, remembering with a groan that it was likely on the floor with the rest of her things in the other room. The only item she had on her was the bracelet that hardly ever left her wrist. "Bugger, I completely forgot to inform him. I'm in for one of his lectures tomorrow, aren't I?"

"Most assuredly," he said with visible sympathy. Out of the chainmail, he was still broad and strong of limb, and Ishgardians in general seemed to be composed of a harder, hammered metal, honed and weathered by years of war compared to their peaceful cousins in Gridania. Haurchefant was a perfectly chiseled example, but though the shadows under his eyes spoke of duties and burdens, he was ever ready to offer warmth and friendship. Such as now, speaking in his lilting cadence, "But tomorrow's worries can wait! It pleases me to see that you've made yourself comfortable in the meantime."

He looked very pleased indeed, gaze lingering on where the blanket had slipped from her shoulders, the neckline of the overly large shirt dipping low down the front. X'sana huffed but didn't try to cover herself up. "Yes, well, I made do given the lack of any alternative. I'm afraid my clothes are beyond saving."

"I shall have a new set acquired for you," he said with one of those gentlemanly Elezen bows, which X'sana couldn't help but find lovely, her discomfort with fancy etiquette aside. She didn't _think_ he knew she had a weakness for those, but she wasn't willing to bet on it when he added slyly, "On the morrow, if it pleases you."

No doubt if she insisted he'd fetch the clothes for her right away with no hard feelings. But there was really no need to insist. "Tomorrow, then," she agreed. And because there was a limit to how much generosity she could take, she added, "I'll pay you back."

"...Pay me back how?" he asked after a very significant pause, with a very odd rising lift at the end of the question.

“I assumed in gil but if you need me to kill something—oh. _Oh_." Heat rushed up her neck and she promptly dropped her face into her hands.

He chuckled, the sound of it sweet and easy and she flushed some more, for a different reason. "No need for payment of any kind between us, dear friend. If I may be frank, the mere thought of you sleeping in my own bed is splendid enough on its own."

The satisfaction in his voice held an implication she wasn't brave enough to ask about, though it certainly took up residence in her imagination and lit a flame in her core. Pressing her thighs together, X'sana took a deep breath to steady herself. She had thought Thancred roguish in his charm, but her experience there had done nothing to prepare her for the shamelessness of Haurchefant Greystone.

"When you are ready to retire, only say the word and I shall leave you to your rest."

"No—no need," she mumbled into her hands, and then forced herself to lift her head to be heard more clearly. "Pray, remain here for the night. If you are so inclined."

Finally, she dragged her gaze up to his face, finding delight writ plain across his features. The long Elezen ears were not emotive like her own, but if he'd been Miqo'te they would have been perked tall and forward in her direction. He stepped towards her, closing much distance in that single stride, and then bent at the waist with his hand extended in invitation.

She was helpless before that courtly gesture, taking his hand and letting him draw her up onto her feet, breath stuttering as he brushed his lips over her knuckles and gazed at her with undisguised adoration. "I am at your disposal, my lady."

His words felt hot across her skin and she squeezed out a laugh. "I'm no lady, Haurchefant, really—oh!" He lifted her like she weighed nothing, hoisting her up until she was perched on his bent arm with her knees parted to either side of his torso, staring down at him for a novel change of view. He only needed the one arm to hold her, his free hand playing with a lock of hair that hung down the side of her face.

"If not as a lady, then pray tell, how shall I treat you?"

X'sana swallowed, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. Her tail gave a flick of anticipation. The wintery mix of his eyes promised to be just about anything she wished and she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. "As a friend will suffice," she said. "One who would very much like to know your touch."

"That," Haurchefant said, his smile widening, "I would be full glad to provide." His knuckles grazed her cheek, curving along the slope to her chin and then trailing his fingertips down her throat, over her collarbones, teasing the exposed swell of her breasts. Her nipples tightened in response and he traced the shadows of them through the cloth. His hands were so big, how might it feel to have them both on her, molding against her? Her legs squeezed around him and she lifted her own hands to either side of his face, learning the exact angle of his jaw and the feel of his skin.

He tipped his face up into her touch and met her lips eagerly, open-mouthed and hot inside. She made a melting sound and tried to press even closer, having found the most wonderful heat in the midst of the frozen north; she could curl up here and be content for many long nights, tasting him rich and delectable.

His tongue made a thorough exploration of her mouth before leaving her and then his thumb came up to swipe at her slick lower lip, eyes darkened and voice wondering as he murmured, "Simply exquisite." She closed her teeth around the tip of his thumb and sucked lightly, watching through her lashes as his breath caught. "How you tempt me, dear X'sana."

At her encouraging noise and a lap of her tongue, he pushed inward, calloused thumb in her mouth and wide palm cupping her jaw, tilting her face so he could sear a hot kiss to her neck. The scrape of his teeth had her squirming. "You can—you can mark me," she said around the digit in her mouth, _bite me_ , she wanted to say, a primal urge to be claimed the way a Nunh would declare his chosen mates, taking only the strongest and cleverest and most beautiful. It was a desire she only seemed to have in these instinctual moments, regardless of the race of her partner, craving primitive validation from others she viewed as trusted and strong.

Haurchefant obliged her with enthusiasm. He laved at the spot with his tongue and set his teeth to her flesh, sucking and worrying a bruise to the surface of her skin. X'sana's answering purr vibrated underneath his ministrations. "By Halone," he swore, "every time I see this mark on you I'll remember this moment and get hard. Which is to say, I hope it doesn't fade for a long time."

The laugh that burst out of her was surprised, delighted, and almost drunk with how giddy her head felt. She wound her fingers through his silken, silvered-ice hair and nuzzled the top of his head. "I'll give you plenty more to remember. Let me have my feet under me again so I can show you."

He groaned, pressing one more wet kiss to her throat. "You will be the death of me at this rate." The supporting arm under her shifted, allowing her to slide down the solid, muscled length of his body until her toes touched the floor, front pressed against him and feeling the hard ridge of his cock just under her breasts. Her borrowed shirt had bunched up and the cool air on her bare skin made her more aware of the slickness growing between her thighs.

She unfastened his trousers with hurried fingers and would be lying if she said she'd never been curious. Elezen men were so _tall_ and long of limb, one couldn't help but wonder. She might have thought about it once or twice in the privacy of a dark room ever since that first sojourn into Coerthas.

Finally, he sprang free and X'sana hummed in pleasure, drinking in the sight. He curved upward proudly, flush at the tip and soft-skinned under the light touch of her hand, wonderfully thick and twitching when she made a loose fist and stroked the whole length. Licking her lips, she glanced up to find him watching her avidly, and under the intensity of his gaze she hunched over to set the flat of her tongue to his heated flesh.

Haurchefant breathed out an oath above her, or that was what it sounded like when he uttered her name instead of the Fury's. Almost sacrilegious, that. And the worshipful tones continued when she lapped at him experimentally, tasting the salty bead of moisture that welled at his tip while trying to hold her hair out of the way at the same time. His fingers slid against hers to gather up the loosely tumbled locks out of want to help and need to grip something both, it seemed. Thus anchored, she breathed in deeply before fitting the head of him into her mouth, his fingers tightening in her hair and his reverence sending delicious shivers down her spine.

Try as she might, though, she could barely manage another ilm or two, whimpering around his cock and sneaking her hand between her legs to wonder.

"No need to strain yourself, dear one." He stroked the top of her head and along her ears, paying particular attention to the furred appendages that flicked under his fingers.

X'sana made a whine of protest as she pulled off him, panting slightly. "I only need to practice," she said with the same stubbornness she applied to mastering a new weaponskill. She was glad she could straighten her back though, body arcing in a stretch. He bumped against her ribs, damp from her mouth, and—both embarrassed and incredibly aroused—she found that she would only need to bend a little to slot him between her breasts.

She shucked off the shirt before she could lose her nerve, pressing the upper half of her naked body close and palming the weight of her breasts around his shaft. Blushing at the thought of what she looked like, tits forward and ass out, she asked, "How about this...?"

He slid himself against her in answer, and she could watch, red-cheeked and lips parted, as his cock pushed up between her squeezed flesh. "That's quite lovely," he said, hands slipping down to cover hers and apply just the right pressure, find just the right position for him to thrust into. "Though, much as I would be honored to spill over your gorgeous breasts—" He squeezed and kneaded, and by the Twelve his hands were big on her. "—It hardly seems fair to you."

It wouldn't be so bad, letting him finish on her like this, the hungry gnaw inside her found it a sweet enough idea. Though perhaps for another time. "I suppose I haven't had my fill just yet," she conceded.

"Oh, may I?" One of his hands caressed and then cupped under her chin, lifting her face to see his flushed, radiant expression. "Fill you, that is."

A soft moan escaped her and she was _so_ wet, thighs rubbing together. "Azeyma, yes."

He picked her up again, sought her mouth in a fervent, lips-and-tongue kiss, carrying her to the bed and pressing her down into the duvet while she pulled at his clothes, greedy for his warm skin. When she finally had him bare her hands found all manner of scars, from tooth and talon and heretic blade. He mapped similar battle wounds that littered her own body, the thin slashes of Garuda's wind and the burns of magitek laser, sucking his own marks into her skin with the impunity she'd granted him.

When his wandering fingers slicked themselves on her folds she gasped, legs falling open and then squeezing together for more pressure, trapping his hand. His laugh fanned warm across her breast, tongue flickering over the nipple. As always, he accommodated her, grinding against her clit for a while before dragging his lips to her ear and coaxing, "Spread for me, sweet X'sana. Let me open you up for my cock."

"Oh, gods." She clung to his broad shoulders and her thighs parted wetly for him. He traced up and down her slit with slow, deliberate motions, as if committing her shape and feel to touch memory, circling around the nub at her apex until she trembled. When he sank a single finger into her she came apart, hips bucking for more.

He took his time giving it, dropping a kiss to her brow and murmuring lavish praises and filthy promises both. "So beautiful, my warrior, yours is a face most divine that has graced my dreams for many nights. Yet such dreams can scarce compare to reality. How soft and tight you are inside, I would know every luscious ilm of what you have to offer, delve so deep into you that I might find what makes you so irresistible..." Another long finger pushed into her, finding her more relaxed and compliant in the aftershocks of orgasm, and the thrust and crook of his fingers working her loose had her mewling.

With the addition of a third she already felt like she was full to the brim, but surely, surely she could manage more. She _wanted_ more, greedy thing that she was. Her nails dug furrows in his skin and she panted, head lolling, offering her neck for him to suck and lick and bite. She could very well cause a scandal parading these lovebites about tomorrow, and Alphinaud was going to go red-faced and cough politely into his fist, looking anywhere but at her, and maybe he would forget about the lecture he undoubtedly had planned. X'sana smiled at the thought.

"What amuses you so, my dear?"

"Just... _ah_... wondering what everyone will think when they see what you've done to me."

"Oh, they'll be quite jealous, I'm sure." He stole a kiss from her lips, silencing her dismay when his fingers withdrew with a lewd sound, and then she was bereft of his warmth as he sat up to position himself between her splayed legs. He stroked her thighs, the curve of her hips, and then reached down to nudge against the dripping, parted folds he'd so thoroughly prepared.

The first push of his cock into her waiting, wanting pussy drove the breath from her lungs. She gripped tight around him, the fullness beyond compare, and he went slow with starts and stops as she adjusted ilm by ilm, taking and then taking some more. He would pull out slightly and then rock back in, hitting a bit deeper each time.

"What a sight you are, so magnificent, taking me so well..."

When he finally bottomed out she let out a sob, feeling him straight to her core. Her hands were fisted in the thick duvet and her legs bent around his waist, she was split so wide open on him, she would be feeling this for days. Struggling to lift her head, X'sana stared down the length of her body, past the peaks of her breasts and the slope of her stomach where her hips were tilted up into his lap, fully seated. Her lower abdomen bulged slightly. The bulge disappeared when he slid out and reappeared when he thrust back in, and that was when X'sana realized she was actually seeing his cock pushing up inside her.

"By the Twelve," she breathed, and that was the last coherent thing she managed to say before he began to fuck her in earnest.

It was overwhelming, the way each thrust stuffed her full, wondering how there could possibly be enough space in her body. He wasn't rough in the least but it was just _so much_.

"Beautiful, X'sana, that's a good girl, oh how tight and lovely you are, just let go and let me take care of you."

She reached for him, unable to use her words, and he folded her legs and bent over her so she could hold onto him, scratching lines down his shoulders and back as she took the steady pound of his cock. The difference in height wouldn't allow her to bite and suck at his mouth so she set her teeth and lips to the base of his neck, losing herself in the sweat and sex smell of him, the rhythm of their bodies moving together. One of his large hands cradled her head, rubbing at the base of her ears. She tried to bunt up into the touch, whining in the back of her throat, asking for more but more of _what_ she couldn't really say.

Then a particularly sharp snap of his hips sent a jolt through her and he unraveled a little, holding her tighter. Fucked into her hard and fast for some few thrusts that had him finishing inside her with one of those devout not-prayers on his lips.

Still preoccupied with being filled to aching, the sudden slide of his fingers around her swollen clit had her surging up and nearly off the bed, clinging fast to his solid frame above her as she was pushed over the edge a second time before she knew what was happening.

It took a moment for her to catch her breath afterward. Several moments, more like. She gradually became aware of a hand petting her hair and the slowing thunder of her heart. Then, with the wettest slide, the leave of him from her tender pussy and the dripping emptiness that took its place. "Oh... the mess..." She tried to reach between her legs to somehow catch it.

"Never mind that for now," Haurchefant said, pressing a kiss to her sweaty temple and lacing his fingers through hers. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"You'd never. That was incredible." Gods, she was going to be sore though. She wouldn't be setting off for Ishgard early tomorrow, that was for certain. Maybe not until the day after unless she came up with an excuse for the limp.

"Excellent." Another kiss, this one lingering soft against her mouth as he murmured, "A moment."

Then there was cool space next to her on the bed as he got up and her eyes followed his finely built form around the room. Firelight danced on his skin, bleeding slightly from the scratch of her nails but he didn’t seem to mind it, and the sight of her imprint on him added to the hazy glow of contentment that wrapped around her like a blanket. After disappearing briefly into the washroom, he returned with a damp cloth for the mess they'd made between her thighs.

Once they were both cleaned up, X'sana sprawled half on top of him under the covers, snuggling close to his warmth. She traced the lines of old scarring on his shoulder, opposite of where she'd impressed the shape of her mouth, and they traded stories. How he'd once been sent tumbling over the camp's ramparts, locked in the grip of an aevis's talons, and only the accumulated snow of an overnight blizzard that the wind had fortuitously piled against the wall had spared him worse injury. Then she regaled him with the tale of confronting Garuda, how they'd pierced through her fierce winds with the _Enterprise_ , a feat only made possible with Haurchefant's support in recovering the airship.

"And this?" he asked, fingers plucking not at her body but at the leather bracelet wrapped around her wrist. It was a bit of an oddity, she had to admit, and stood out all the more when it was the only thing she was wearing.

"A protection charm for the Scions," she said, drawing his attention to the gleaming blood pearl. "Alphinaud has one as well. And this..." The gold coin dangling from the cord was especially bright and warm between her fingers. "A token," _of admiration_ , "from a dear friend." One who slept peacefully in his ancient tower, dreaming of a future where she might only exist in stories told and tales written. She could only do her best to make them worthwhile, and perhaps, if she filled enough volumes, he'd decipher her down to all the things she didn't say, ever the insightful historian.

"There's a custom in some Seeker tribes," she explained in the meantime, voice soft and memory not so painful anymore, here in a warm room next to a warm body. "Such tokens represent one's bonds with others."

"If you are collecting, 'tis a wonder you are not more adorned."

A smile found its way to her lips. "He said something similar. You both overestimate me."

Haurchefant tutted, "Not so. I'm positive your friend and I are in agreement on that." He covered her hand with his and brought it to his mouth to kiss her fingers. "I shall have to find something appropriate to offer, if you might be gracious enough to accept?"

The thought of adding to her bracelet, perhaps to the point of being considered popular in some circles and how such a detail might be recorded for future perusal, pulled a light laugh from her. "I would be glad to." And then she stretched up to replace her fingers with her mouth.

* * *

"X'sana, thank you for coming on such short notice. I heard that you and your companions are bound for Sharlayan, so I won't take much of your time." Count Edmont greeted her from behind the desk of his study, already back to work despite the lines of grief still etched into his features. But then, X'sana well understood the need for action and distraction.

"'Tis no trouble," she said, pulling off her gloves and flexing some warmth back into her fingers. Easier to look down at her hands than at the count's drawn expression. Her own face felt stony, whipped numb by the cold edge of Ishgard's wind immediately after arriving from the green, leafy forests of Gridania—but the freezing weather of Coerthas was only part of the reason for her hardness. She kept expecting—something, anything, at least a little bit of blame, some regret for taking her in and setting House Fortemps on a path that would deprive them of their finest knight, their beloved son, the best and brightest among them.

Anger would have been understandable. Deserved, even. Gods knew she was angry enough for all of them and she could see now how a war could last for a thousand years, fueled by nothing but incandescent rage and a spearheaded drive for vengeance. It was not befitting of a hero to feel this way ( _“a smile better suits”_ ), but for the life of her she did not know how to feel otherwise. The Blessing of Light had never seemed so far away. Frequently, she sensed Midgardsormr's ancient, fathomless gaze on her, invisible and observing what she might do with all this irreconcilable destruction she bottled up inside.

If even a little bit of someone else's anger could be directed at her, she would gladly break herself on it. She would rather bleed than be this callous, bloodthirsty blade. It would ruin her and a large part of X'sana simply did not care as long as she ruined the archbishop and Ser Zephirin along with her.

"I have something for you. Or at least, I believe it was intended for you." Reaching into a drawer, Count Edmont retrieved a small, square box that he placed on the desk and pushed gently towards her.

What little warmth she had managed to generate in her blood went cold at the sight of that box. After a silent, too-long pause she reached for it with stiff fingers, roughened pads catching on fine velvet. It was a dainty thing in her awkward grip. She couldn't bring herself to open it and look inside.

Count Edmont's sympathy was equally too deep to bear. "It belonged to his mother. A gift from me to her when I was young—but that is an old story now. Haurchefant asked after its whereabouts some time ago. Only recently did I recall where it might be, and though 'tis regrettably late, I offer it to you in his stead."

X'sana stood frozen, her lips barely moving around the words, "Something so important, I couldn't possibly..."

"He wished for you to have it." The count took up his cane and rose slowly to his feet. It was as if he'd aged years rather than suns. Making his way around the desk, he placed a hand on her shoulder; a heavy weight she could have withstood but the lightness of the touch nearly brought her to her knees. "Consider it in your safekeeping, if nothing else. He would not have wanted to burden you. And neither would I. Have a safe journey, X'sana, and know that we await your return here at House Fortemps."

He closed the door behind him, leaving her alone with the pounding in her head, in her heart, and it wasn't just a furious, cold cacophony anymore. The ice around her had shrunk thin and brittle.

Gentleness remained beyond the grasp of her trembling fingers, but she could at least pry the box's lid open without breaking it. And she was glad for the privacy when she saw what lay within, a wounded noise escaping her at the sight of the silver filigree ear cuffs, paired together on a glittering length of chain. It was too fine a thing for the likes of her. A pretty piece meant for a noble lady. And then X’sana remembered Haurchefant’s mother had been a commoner who might have once felt this very same sense of inadequacy, undeserving and out of place, and how Haurchefant himself had used sword and shield and chivalry to prove himself beyond the circumstances of his birth.

X’sana knew what that was like. She’d done something similar after all, fought and clawed her way to acknowledgement, proved to everyone that someone from poor stock could be the tribe’s greatest asset, and then promptly turned on her heel and left as soon as the truth sank in for them all. But she’d never told him this, because what she’d done for personal satisfaction he did out of love for his kin and country, and what sort of hero was she compared to that?

She couldn’t accept this gift. She couldn’t. And yet—and yet she noticed that the cuffs designed to hug the elegant curves of an Elezen ear had been slightly modified, the loops closed by an additional link that was almost crude in comparison, allowing them to be strung on a cord. This beautifully crafted and poignant piece of jewelry, altered in a way just for her.

A sudden swell rose like a wave that broke on the shores of her grief. It broke her, more thoroughly and softly than she could have imagined, without anger or resentment or terrible, bloody ruin, and left her shivering and sobbing on the study’s floor until at last her burdened, guilty heart ran empty.


	3. Perihelion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WoL/Estinien, plus some lead-up to WoL/Aymeric and implied Aymeric/Estinien.
> 
> This chapter is brought to you by the fact that my WoL was still just a LNC when I did HW and I only unlocked DRG recently. Estinien wanting a fellow Azure Dragoon to fight beside made me feel some things.
> 
>  **Explicit** for more Miqo'te/Elezen smut.

_Perihelion (n):_   
_The point in the orbit of a planet or comet at which it is nearest to the sun._

The swarms of Gnath that fell upon them through the untamed Dravanian Forelands were a trifling, yet persistent nuisance; each group was easily felled under the combined force of the Warrior of Light and Azure Dragoon, but the unending waves and ambushes were beginning to wear on Estinien's patience. And even he had limited endurance. So he cut them down with ruthless efficiency, pleased to see that X'sana was equally decisive in her blows, the two of them working in tandem with deceptive ease.

Estinien was well aware of his own habits and shortcomings. He had trained alongside his fellow dragoons, been instilled with the discipline to work together as a unit, but it was not in his nature to accommodate others and he truly excelled on the field when he had no one else to worry about. Taking the Eye into his safekeeping and leading the Horde on a chase, fending them off on his own, had suited him well—perhaps too well, because upon returning to Ishgard as Nidhogg's attention swung to the city, Estinien found it somewhat difficult to reintegrate into the Order of the Knights Dragoon and resume his official post.

He would pull ahead without meaning to, took risks he would not have asked of the others, and overall set a poor example as their commander. If he'd ever been fit for command to begin with. But the Eye chose the Azure Dragoon, and the ability to wield it trumped all other requirements for the position. Even Heustienne, once his fiercest rival and equal in the skies, was at a loss when fighting alongside him now. This could not go on with the threat of the Horde at their doorstep, it was detrimental to the Order as a whole to leave things this way. Accompanying the two Scions on what most would consider a fool's errand at best, and heresy deserving of the Fury's wrath at worst, had been an opportunity in more ways than one.

So it was to X'sana's credit when she adapted to him in combat as if they'd been comrades for far longer than a few suns. She was fast on her feet and even faster with her strikes, filling in the smallest opening and then getting out of the way of his larger swings. Her timing and judgment left nothing to be desired, though Estinien would expect nothing less from the Warrior of Light whom Aymeric held in such high regard. They'd all heard the rumors of the famed primal slayer and Lord Haurchefant's endorsement was no secret—her deeds in the Central Highlands were certainly to be commended—but for the Lord Commander to take an interest in an outsider, no matter how celebrated, and give even a subtle indication of support, was something that did not go unnoticed or unquestioned in certain circles. Of course, for those who were privy to the man's goals and ideals, the interest in a heroic figure who could influence nations and shape history was not so unusual.

Estinien had full faith in his friend's judgment when it came to such grand matters and the confounding political dance of the theocracy. His own interest was far more prosaic: just how strong must one be to triumph over a host of primals and the Black Wolf of Garlemald?

Though the likes of the Gnath had yet to truly test them, he was beginning to get an idea as they left a pile of chitin carcasses in their wake. It wasn't quite right to say that Estinien was enjoying himself, but the clash of their combined might against their foes was deeply satisfying in a way.

The group made slow progress through the forest and across the river, where the monotony was finally broken by, of all things, a large drove of bears. This might not have been cause for alarm on its own, but yet another squad of Gnath chose to descend upon them at the same time. Gunshots went off and the bears went into a frenzy.

"This is absurd," Alphinaud remarked, flipping his grimoire open. "How do we keep stumbling upon every Gnath patrol in the forelands? They must be communicating somehow, but I've found no linkpearls on the ones we've slain."

"A fine question," Estinien said while leveling his lance at the line of now rampaging bears. "But a question best pondered after dealing with this lot."

He shot forward to interrupt the line, lance meeting with solid meat and muscle for a change of pace after cracking Gnath shells for a good part of the morning. While he took the brunt of the heavy charge, X'sana rushed the Gnath gunmen with swift claws and the occasional thrown dagger when one of them was out of reach and lining up a shot. Sometimes the small blade only bounced off their clawed forelegs, but it knocked the enemy off their mark by a few precious ilms.

Magic whipped the air nearby and Alphinaud's little green pet joined the fray. Iceheart was not idle either, primarily defending the young caster and dealing with any opponents who slipped by Estinien and X'sana.

A stray sprite or two got caught up in the battle, but everything was well in hand. Up until it wasn't.

Perhaps it was the Eye they sensed, tantalizingly close to the heart of the dragons' homeland, for in the midst of the roaring bears, the chittering Gnath, and a lone, angrily bubbling water sprite, a flock of scalekin came surging in. A piercing screech was Estinien's only warning as he felled one of the massive bears, and in its place came the bared fangs and raking talons of an aevis. The scrape of the talons against his armor was negligible, but the jaws swooping in to clamp down on his middle were another story; the teeth alone wouldn't puncture his armor easily but they could hinder his movement enough to be a death sentence in this mess of a fight.

"Seven Hells!" He snarled and slashed downward with a bladed gauntlet. This opened a wound that spurted blood from the aevis's head, but still it held on. Estinien tightened his hand into a fist and smashed it against the hinge of the jaw. The aevis loosened its crushing grip for an instant and he leapt backward reflexively.

In the span of a breath he was coiling himself to jump back in, blood boiling to fend off the Horde as he'd done hundreds of times before, ripping through them with the dread wyrm's power at his disposal, when Iceheart called out, "Hold, Estinien!" Her command would have been soundly ignored, but her next words managed to put a chain on his rage. "We should fall back and regroup with X'sana!"

The Warrior of Light could not be seen amongst the mob that had amassed to almost comical proportions. It seemed as if half the forelands had gathered. Was that _another_ Gnath patrol on their way?

Estinien's grip tightened on his lance. All the more reason to cut a path through the monsters and wildlife rampaging between them and X'sana.

Then a bear's growl suddenly changed into a dying groan and the dull boom of its mass hitting the ground was echoed by the rapid-fire pound of fists hitting furred or scaled flesh.

The tense, fearful line of Alphinaud's shoulders relaxed slightly. "She's dealt with worse," he said with a veneer of confidence that couldn't entirely mask the worry lingering in his vigilant gaze. "And has yet to encounter a problem she couldn't punch in the face." A furious, wheeling storm of strikes rose up from the center of the crowd, pushing them all back at once. "Or kick away."

Estinien laughed, low and apparently unexpected judging by the way the other two startled. "A woman after my own heart," he said, swinging his lance behind him. Then he dropped low and pushed off from the ground. This time, no one tried to stop him.

High up in the air, he had a bird's-eye view of X'sana in the middle of the throng. She'd given herself some space to work, having lost one of her weapons, and battered a bear across the snout with her knuckles. Then she spun to stab a fistful of claws at a snapping aevis's face, finishing it with an upward strike to its throat.

Briefly, she tipped her face up to acknowledge him. Her teeth flashed white against the tan of her skin, streaked in blood and dirt. Then, having thinned the crowd a bit, she forcefully shouldered through a miniscule opening and gave him the perfect place to drop like a comet, lance-point spearing through a Dravanian skull and leaving a spreading blaze in its wake.

Between the two of them, they regained the upper hand, though by the end of it Estinien's armor was dented, singed, and he likely had some internal bleeding if the taste of blood in his mouth was any indication. X'sana was in a similar state and had dislocated her shoulder, arm dangling by her side. That didn't stop or even slow her when she noticed a carapaced sniper on a nearby ridge. She scooped up a fallen Gnath's spear, drew it back, and let it fly with practiced muscle memory. The sniper went down and didn't get back up.

"Was that the last one?" She panted, scanning the surroundings, but Estinien was only looking at her now.

"You've trained with a lance before," he stated.

"A little. Not enough to be worth mentioning in front of the Azure Dragoon."

On the contrary, a small, inexplicable part of him wanted to complain to all the storytellers extolling the adventures of the Warrior of Light, _why didn't I hear of this?_ Estinien himself didn't know why it would matter, only that it irked him that he was only finding out now. "I would know more of what you've learned. A warrior of your caliber has great potential in any area of combat she chooses to study."

The ears on top of her head flicked and she gave a wry, slightly pained smile. "Very well. Give me a moment, though." With a grimace, she took her limp wrist in hand.

"Allow me," he said before she could just shove the joint back in place.

She started to shake her head, a rejection surely forming on her lips, but then she stared at his offered hand and her gaze slowly traveled up to where he bent slightly before her on account of the height difference. Without a word, she placed her small, battle-worn hand in his much larger one.

"Such injuries are common amongst the Knights Dragoon," Estinien explained, "to the point that we learned how to best treat it and spare ourselves a trip to the chirurgeons." Though he was finding that between an Elezen and Miqo’te, this was more awkward than he was used to. Unable to rest her hand on his shoulder, he kept her bare fingers curled in his gauntleted ones and her arm folded loosely between their bodies, while his free hand pressed into the tense muscle of her bicep. She stiffened at first, expecting the sharp pain of the bone being forced into the socket. Estinien smirked as his fingers merely kneaded her arm with firm, insistent pulls on the muscle. "Relax. Outside the demands of battle, this need not be rushed or painful."

X'sana abruptly averted her gaze. "Y-yes, so I see." Then she muttered in a rush under her breath, "Azeyma, preserve me, why are they all like this?"

Before Estinien could question her meaning, Alphinaud trotted up to them and sent out a wash of healing magic. Cuts closed and the ache of surface bruises faded. "Ysayle and I found no other threats in the vicinity," he reported, and Estinien held back a snort. That was because they'd wiped out every possible threat within a few hundred yalms, surely. "Still, we'd best quit this place as soon as possible. How fare the two of you?"

"I'll have our Warrior of Light fixed in just a moment," he said, fingers working up along X'sana's deltoid. The healing had helped and she was becoming more pliant under his touch, trusting him as he worked on her despite the obvious pain of the misaligned joint.

"And what of _you_ , ser dragoon?" Iceheart crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him with a cool expression. "You took more than a few heavy blows as I recall. Anyone else would be a crater after that."

Alphinaud's concern turned to Estinien, who snarled his gratitude in Iceheart's unaffected direction. "As you observed, I am not just anyone. Enough, don't fret over me, boy, you know perfectly well that some injuries must heal on their own."

"Perhaps we should find a place to rest for a while."

"Nay," Estinien snapped. "We've wasted enough time on these godsforsaken natives and still have much to—"

A sound from X'sana stopped him short and he bit off a curse on the immediate assumption that he'd hurt her in his thoughtless impatience. Only after he released her did he realize the noise had been one of relief, her arm relaxed enough to settle back into the shoulder socket naturally, which she rubbed and rotated in plain amazement.

"That worked wonders, Estinien. Thank you."

"'Twas nothing," he said automatically, curling and uncurling both his hands with a frown. No doubt that petite body of hers was plenty battle-tested and hardy despite her fairly young years, twenty-two summers old if the tales had it true, and even with his decade's worth of additional experience he would not place confident odds on himself besting her. The thought that he might harm her accidentally through simple touch was probably laughable in retrospect. Yet the lightness of her hand in his and the way he could have encircled her entire arm lingered in his mind as they continued down the long-abandoned road that took them deeper into Dravania.

* * *

They made camp in the shadow of Zenith, hopefully the last of their innumerable (and some frankly ludicrous) delays. X'sana and Alphinaud seemed accustomed to such trials along their journey, and when Estinien paused to consider, the tales were indeed full of accounts from the many people the Warrior of Light helped along her way. It had never occurred to him that such a rousing story of adventure would feel so roundabout and tedious in the actual undertaking. If the Fury had the slightest shred of mercy for them, they would finally meet with Hraesvelgr on the morrow.

Estinien took first watch after X'sana tried to volunteer and was summarily shot down by Alphinaud, who scolded the Warrior of Light as a mother would to her child. "You know very well that if you don't try and sleep now, you won't get any sleep at all."

His words proved true; Estinien estimated that two bells passed before X'sana managed to drift off. She slept curled in on herself and had gravitated towards her fellow Scion until they were huddled next to each other like wolf pups, a fact that Estinien looked forward to mentioning to Alphinaud in the morning. The boy possessed maturity and intelligence beyond his years, but he was still a green adolescent in the ways of the world and floundered over some things the way a youth should. In comparison, the majority of Ishgardian children, at least the commonborn like Estinien, tended to harden quickly under the ever-present shadow of war and faced with the constant reality of losing families and homes. Alphinaud, though carrying more burdens than any sixteen-year-old rightly should, yet retained a softness that Estinien would not see lost anytime soon.

He had planned to let the boy sleep through the night, changing watch with Iceheart and X'sana in turn, but the latter stirred in her sleep and suddenly gripped onto Alphinaud with enough strength to make him flail into wakefulness.

"What—Alisaie, let me—oh." He blinked in a daze, registering where he was and who was clinging onto him. He went red-faced, as expected, but then proceeded to calmly and carefully extricate himself without disturbing X'sana. Evidently, this was not an unusual occurrence. Yawning behind his hand, he took a look at the still-dark sky and then turned to Estinien. "Might as well change watch now that I'm up. I'm sure enough time has passed."

So much for that plan. Estinien added another log to the fire and prodded the flames to rising. "Do as you will." It was unlikely that he would fall asleep with ease himself, not when he could hear the distant flap of dragonwings carried on the wind. He was accustomed to getting only the minimum amount of rest, though, a habit born of necessity when evading Nidhogg and his minions on his own.

Nearby, X'sana continued to sleep fitfully. She muttered something, and it sounded to be... something about moogles?

"Drat," Alphinaud mumbled. "I should have known this would happen after Moghome." He looked around, then got to his feet and retrieved Moghan from where their guide had been ignorantly snoozing away for many bells already, and placed the fuzzy creature next to X'sana for her to latch onto. Moghan squeaked in alarm at first, but the grip on him soon relaxed and made clumsy, unconscious petting motions through his fur, and they both settled.

Estinien felt compelled to ask, "Was she just having a nightmare... about moogles?"

Alphinaud came to sit beside him and nodded glumly. "I'm afraid she has a bit of a trauma when it comes to moogles."

"But she was so enthralled with the abominable creatures." He clearly recalled how they finally reached the peak of Sohm Al, about to collapse from the grueling battle up the mountain and surviving the confrontation with Tioman, yet as soon as the word "moogle" was mentioned, X'sana's entire countenance had lit up, eyes sparkling. Even now, she was snuggling with one. "Between her and Iceheart, I fear that we might abscond with this one all the way back to Ishgard."

Alphinaud rolled his eyes. "You can use Ysayle's name, you know. That can't be too much to ask after all we've been through together, and you admitted that she's been telling the truth about your history."

"I acknowledge the truth before my eyes in these ruins and I have a degree of trust in her ability to parley with Hraesvelgr, else I would not be here. But I maintain peace with her lofty goals and naive viewpoints only so long as they do not stand against mine. Beyond that, we are hardly friends."

Alphinaud sighed, looked beseechingly towards the sky, and muttered something about "stubborn, bullheaded Ishgardians," which was true enough so Estinien saw no reason to take offense. "...Anyroad, yes, our celebrated Warrior of Light is very fond of moogles. This being the case, it was unfortunate when the moogles of the Twelveswood summoned a primal, or something close enough to one that we couldn't leave it alone."

"Ah. I see where the trauma originates now." Estinien envisioned putting a primal moogle god or whatever to his lance and found the fantasy to be rather cathartic.

"According to those who fought beside her, each time she punched out a mooglesguard she would burst into tears. I suppose such a detail didn't make it into the stories that reached Coethas."

"Indeed not." Tales of heroism aplenty, of bravery and reckless charges into enemy strongholds, of triumphs that united nations and ushered in a new era. And there were tales of her kindness, too, of the small favors and peaceful relations she maintained between tense neighbors. But they did not mention how she took comfort in tucking herself around a bundle of fur and pudge as she slept, or how she smiled in anticipation when a meal was almost done cooking, or how she would bend over an array of tools, point at one, and proceed to have a lively discussion with the vendor about minerals and metal compositions. A recent hobby, she'd explained when Estinien commented on the lengthy talk, though he really meant to bring attention to the fact that she needed to buy a new weapon, which was the purpose of approaching the Vath vendor in the first place.

"She is every ilm a hero," Alphinaud mused, his gaze resting fondly on the woman who was now cuddling peacefully with the moogle, "and Eorzea will long remember her as such. It falls upon us to remember her as simply X'sana, be that friend, fellow Scion, or moogle fanatic."

Friend, fellow warrior, fellow... something. Estinien turned the words around in his mind, finding them true and yet lacking somehow. Incomplete and unrealized. The ambiguity followed him into restless snatches of sleep, fragments of part-memory and part-dream around light hands and striking fists, the spill of loose hair streaming behind her head as she sprinted forward, and the vast emptiness of the firmament at the height of his leap.

* * *

She was glorious in battle. Her presence towered where the fulms and ilms of her did not, standing in the face of Nidhogg's bloodthirsty rage and answering the dread wyrm with unyielding defiance. An outsider, whom the Holy See would have shunned if not for a perfect alignment of circumstances, standing against their ancient enemy as their greatest hope. This account would be writ bold and large in the history books, Estinien was sure that Aymeric would see to that.

Wave after wave of dragons crashed upon them, and wave after wave fell to her tearing claws and his piercing lance. Dragon blood ran rivers over stone and the bodies piled, made hills of the dead, and Nidhogg's fury was an ever-rising crescendo that pulled on Estinien, raking at his own vengeful heart that knew full well the despair and howling rage of seeing one's family butchered unjustly. But where Nidhogg's revenge upon men could never be sated, Estinien would see an end to it. So he slaughtered his way there, much as Lady Iceheart mourned the need for such a course, it was the only way. He would take the brunt of Nidhogg's wrath for all the dragonkin slain at his feet as was only fair.

And he was not alone. Estinien had known that this would be a boon, a simple equation of strength plus strength, but it was much more of a blessing than he'd first assumed. Her might kept him alive, this much was true, but her existence, her fortitude, the fact that she stood by his side at this moment, in this place, and with faith to spare—she kept him _whole_.

Draconic rage filled his veins with violence and a part of him reveled in it. Battered from within and without, tasting the edge of a bottomless cruelty, Nidhogg would have consumed him then and there. But Estinien refused to surrender to the madness so long as she was there to light his way. She led him back from the brink. And with her, they at last slew the great wyrm that had terrorized his people for a thousand years.

* * *

Anger was Estinien's oldest, most familiar companion. It simmered low and boiled up, and he'd long since become inured to its tidal pull on his emotions. Outbursts of useless, violent venting were a memory of his untrained youth. He caged and contained the anger well behind drachen armor now, letting it growl up his throat and snap from his tongue every so often, and this allowed him to command the Eye to an extent no one else had either managed or dared.

With Nidhogg's defeat, he thought that he might be free of the constant state of slow-consuming burn, but then Arch-sodding-bishop Thordan VII and those traitorous whoresons of the Heavens' Ward saw fit to fan that flame anew.

The resonant fury that seethed from the Eye was nigh unbearable, but Estinien didn't dare part with the cursed thing when the city was in such a state of unrest and security was damnably compromised. It beat next to him like a second heart, and somewhere out there, its twin did the same.

He surveyed the city from above, the windchill a paltry balm to the roiling heat lashed within, and from his vantage point saw the _Enterprise_ returning from the Sea of Clouds. The airship looked like it had taken a beating. Estinien navigated Ishgard's rooftops and spires with familiar ease, uncaring that the Knights Dragoon were expected to conduct themselves with dignity and not be seen jumping to and fro across people's houses. Gallivanting over the rooftops was something new recruits liked to do, awed by their own fledging abilities, and disciplining each new batch for their unseemly behavior was practically a tradition. But he was the Azure Dragoon, so what could they do, put him on cleaning duty?

Finding a spot near the airship landing, he was able to confirm that all who had embarked were still accounted for, though judging by their expressions the trip had not gone well. Bloody fantastic.

The group parted ways, Lucia making straight for the Congregation to report. Estinien supposed he ought to attend, hear the bad news in an official capacity, and then inwardly boil about it and demolish another training dummy or several. Heustienne was losing patience with the rate at which they needed to be replaced. She kept urging him to take it out on the wildlife instead, do the outpost soldiers a favor, but she didn't understand the line he was toeing. The dragon's savagery would leap at the chance to be let out in violent, bloody indulgence. He'd take to the field only when duty called for it, when that loyalty to his long-battered, still-standing nation was enough to chain the malign urges back.

For so long, all Estinien wanted was revenge. Now he found himself wanting to be rid of the damned Eye and its millennia-old burden, but not yet. Not until these remaining debts were settled. He had use for Nidhogg's poisonous rancor yet.

He chose not to follow Lucia in the end. Whatever she had to report, he'd hear about it eventually. Instead, when the two Scions split up and Alphinaud made for House Fortemps, Estinien trailed after X'sana to the Forgotten Knight. He was not surprised when, after only a short time passed, she canted her head up towards the sky and waved him down.

A number of people startled when he landed on the pavestones next to her. Ignoring them, he straightened and jerked his head at the door to the tavern. "A drink?"

"Twelve, yes."

Gibrillont nodded to them in greeting when they entered. "If you're looking for Miss Tataru, I'm afraid she's stepped out for a while."

"That's for the best, I think." X'sana slumped into a seat. "Mulled wine for me."

"I'll have the same." Estinien joined her at the table. She was not inclined to talk and he didn't mean to ask; it would only be upsetting for one to say and the other to hear.

They drank in silence for a while. It occurred to him somewhat belatedly that the sight of the heroic Warrior of Light drowning her worries in the Brume was not conducive to morale, but with apologies to Aymeric, who was holding their frazzled city-state together with spit and twine behind a brave face, Estinien couldn't be bothered to care. She was at the end of her tether, that much was clear. Her cold, callous words from the other day had struck bold and harsh in all their ears.

_"Life for death. I will have Ser Zephirin's heart for what he did to Haurchefant."_

Something deep and dark and draconic had coiled satisfyingly in him when he heard that bloodthirsty promise leave her lips. It was so, so familiar. Aymeric had been worried, and rightly so, but Fury take it, who else but Estinien could understand her so completely right now? Even if he was also the absolute worst person to lean on at a time like this. Hence the drinking.

Upon finding the bottom of her second mug, X'sana set it down, elbows on the table, and dropped her face in her hands. "Gods, what am I doing?"

"Taking the edge off." He was stating the obvious, but sometimes it needed to be said.

She chuckled, a bone-dry, humorless sound from behind her fingers. "What would he say if he saw me like this? No, I know what he would say. I _know_ , and yet I..."

Estinien scoffed. "So you're as human as the rest of us. What of it? A hero can't be wretched once in a while? You aren't some bloodless statue carved from cold marble."

"I feel that I am these days. 'Tis all I can feel, and 'tisn't _right_." One of her hands curled into a fist and beat against her chest. "I shouldn't be like this, this stone-skinned, dead-hearted, unbreathing..."

He caught her hand to cease the increasingly forceful pound against her ribs. She stilled, her small yet mighty fist enveloped in his, and he had nothing to offer her, not really, no shallow, hypocritical words of comfort or placating kindness. But from one who knew what it was to be a cold-bitten, hate-laced creature, he could tell her, "Feel whatever you must if it keeps you going until the end. And it _will_ end, my friend, one way or another."

* * *

Estinien hadn't intended on taking her to bed, had never even allowed himself to fully imagine it, though admittedly, the thought had been lingering at the edges of his preoccupied mind since Dravania. She was more than a comrade, more than a hero. A friend, absolutely. And something like a kindred soul, sentimental drivel though it may sound; one who willingly bound herself out of duty and love, but was an untamable, untouchable spirit at heart, and this was how Estinien knew that she would never be his.

But he could have her for tonight, and gods, with her lithe figure clinging to him and her teeth nipping at his mouth, how he _wanted_ her. He clutched at X'sana's thighs where her legs wrapped around his waist, her back to the heavy wooden door of the inn room. It probably would have been wiser to take her to his quarters. There would have been some unavoidable eyes and consequent talk, but it wouldn't be quite as damning as disappearing into a room together at the Forgotten Knight for all and sundry to witness. But whatever, let the gossipmongers wag their tongues until they fell off. Whether the ensuing rumors were doubly sordid or impossibly romantic, all that mattered to Estinien right now were the sleek curves of muscle under his hands, the way she flexed against him, and the wet, inviting sound she made when he delved inside her mouth.

Tasting the spiced wine on her tongue went to his head more than the drinks themselves had. He pressed her more firmly against the door, getting a hand under her rump and squeezing, letting his other hand slide under her shirt to meet with warm skin and firm abdomen, up the slight bump of her ribs to the edge of her chest wrap. He palmed her through the thin fabric, thumbing over the pebble of her nipple until it peaked. A pinch and a pull made her squirm, breath hitching, nails dragging across the back of his neck and then tangling, tugging on his hair.

He tipped his head for her and she sucked a spot under his jaw. She was all tooth and nail and desperate, demanding need, needing to feel something other than turbulent grief and rage, and Estinien could not give her much but he could at least give her this. If it was enough to anchor her, the way she'd anchored him, then he would be more than satisfied.

His fingers hooked the top of her wrap and dragged it down to bunch under her soft, full tits, free for him to grope—and to press his hand above her breast, feeling the thump of the heart she claimed was dead inside her chest. The truth was that it was easier to think of oneself as dead because the alternative was to be the one who survived, undeserving, guilty of being alive when someone else was not.

Her legend already spanned multiple nations and wherever she went, her reputation would precede her. Warrior of Light. Hero of Eorzea. Such titles overshadowed the fact that X'sana was still only twenty-two summers old and though she championed a war that was not her own, she hadn't lived it, hadn't come and gone from the frontlines for years with fewer friends each time.

They relied on her too much, all of them, placing their hopes and burdens on this young adventurer barely out of girlhood, no matter how extraordinary her abilities. But much as the Eye of Nidhogg had chosen Estinien, so had Hydaelyn chosen X'sana. Bearing the expectations of others was their lot.

Estinien cupped her cheek in his hand and kissed her with more gentleness than he would have thought himself capable of. That he could be something other than hard-edged and war-weary, amidst all his suffocated and suffocating anger, was a small revelation. But it was merely an indulgence, a fleeting sentiment, a brief taste of foreign sweetness to mark the moment—and then he crushed her to him, intent on devouring her, because she hadn't come to him for gentleness and he had precious little of it to give.

Bearing her down on the bed, stripped to skin, he marveled again at how small she was, and the strength in her despite that. She left bruises on him, bit down on the fingers he pushed in her mouth while his other hand moved between her legs. Trapping her wiry body against his, back to front, the furred tips of her ears tickled his throat and her tail draped over his hip, the end of it curling with each thrust of his fingers into her tight little cunt. Halone, the way she squeezed around him was like nothing else and he hadn't even gotten his cock in her yet. While spreading her open, he rutted against the enticing curves of her ass.

He would have others after her, assuming that he lived through the battles ahead. Men and women, some memorable and others to be forgotten, but he would always remember this: the fit of her against him, her soft, breathy noises, the way she trembled in his arms when she came on his fingers with little pumping jerks of her hips. Just as he wouldn't forget everything else about her, the things it fell upon him to remember. Things like the tired slump of her shoulders as she wound her way through snow-drifted streets, the flush of her face and the glaze of her eyes as she nursed her drink, and the way she’d looked at him, firelight at her back, until he rumbled the question: _What is it that you need?_

 _To take the edge off_ , she’d answered.

His fingers left her mouth, ringed with teeth marks, to trail down her throat and rest over her fluttering pulse. He squeezed enough for her to feel it, the beat of her heart jumping under the pressure and the catch of her breath through a tightened airway, the clearest indication that despite the heaviness weighing upon her heart, the organ still beat, and her aching lungs still breathed. It may only be a temporary reprieve for her, but it would have to be enough.

She was astoundingly warm inside, so slick and giving under the relentless fuck of his fingers. The sounds that spilled from her lips began to coalesce into actual words, half-formed pleas and bitten-off demands for more, and only when she was good and hungry for it, possibly ready to flip them over and take what she wanted, only then did he pull his fingers out, hitch her into position, and feed his cock into her well-worked pussy.

" _Oh_ ," she exhaled, counterpoint to Estinien's indrawn hiss, seating himself in her tight velvet grip.

It didn't matter who came after her; no one else would ever feel like this.

The reserves of his patience drained all at once. He hooked a hand under her knee to spread her wide, angling his hips into her, pulling out and thrusting back in with the intent to leave an impression. It was only fair, after all. She should remember this, remember how thoroughly he took her apart, filled her and fucked her until there was no more room for self-loathing because her tiny body could only stand to take the pound of his cock.

She was beautiful, the way she writhed on him, hair spilled like a wine stain on the sheets and her mouth open, letting out short, sobbing gasps that filled the room; they layered over the wet slide and slap of their joined flesh and the abused creak of the bed. The noises she made wound higher and tighter and he bent his lips close to her ear to remind her, "Breathe, X'sana."

She made a strangled sound first, clenching impossibly tight and then becoming a shuddering, wonderful wreck, dragging in great gulps of air between spasms and a pitiful moan of, "Gods, your _voice_..."

"So that's what does it for you," he murmured, amused. Estinien pulled her roughly against him, continuing to thrust into her loose-limbed body, chasing his release. "Gratifying to know that you can come on my cock from my words alone."

Her response was a nonverbal whine and embarrassed turn of her face into the bedsheets, letting him use her warm cunt to his completion. She contracted around him weakly, still in the aftershocks of the intense pleasure he'd given her, and that combined with the sight of her so flushed and dazed and alive in spite of herself had him emptying in her with a groan between his clenched teeth, hips stuttering, bruising her with his grip.

Afterwards, X'sana turned in his arms with unusual clumsiness. She reached for him, pulling herself up for a disorderly kiss, hands in his hair. The slide of her fingers along his ears elicited a shiver and an ache in some long-forgotten corner of Estinien's chest that he would convince himself was merely post-coital sentiment and nothing more.

Returning the kiss with a hint of teeth, he rolled on his back and dragged her to sprawl on top of him, boneless and exhausted and fucked out—maybe enough for her to fall asleep, but rather than wait patiently for it he pushed two fingers into her, gliding through the leftover mess of her slick and his spend. She whimpered into his mouth but didn't utter a word of protest, spreading ever so slightly for him. Such a needy little cat, and an accommodating one, letting him do as he pleased with her. And so with slow, persistent attention, and a bit of provocation that he couldn't resist, "Let's see you come again to my voice," he wrung one last, weary crest out of her tired and overwhelmed body.

X'sana didn't fall asleep so much as pass out, head on his chest, breathing deep and even and untroubled, at least for a while. She was his, just for a while, in this bare, remote room where their titles and armor lay scattered on the floor, to be donned again in the morning.

The seethe of the Eye was blissfully muted, and Estinien allowed himself the merest fragment of a thought, snatched back swiftly because he knew better, and yet it lingered:

_When this is over..._

* * *

When it was over, he learned how vain such hopes were, and how arrogant he'd been all this time, thinking himself the master of the dragon's might and the long, long years of nurtured rage, be they tens since Ferndale or hundreds since Ratatoskr, because in the end they burned exactly the same.

And when the end came for him, as he'd known it eventually would, he would have had it done by her hand.

She refused.

* * *

After far too much bedrest and more visitors than someone as curmudgeonly as Estinien had any business receiving, the chirurgeons at long last permitted him to leave his bed. Estinien decided that this allowance extended to leaving the infirmary and did so as soon as everyone's backs were turned. True, by the time he reached his quarters he more or less fell back into a bed, but at least he made the choice himself. Not to mention, he now had a door that locked.

When someone eventually came looking for him, he grunted out, "I'm alive, and short of a city-wide riot, disturb me not."

Voices conferred on the other side of the door: Aymeric's low, amused tones and an answering, feminine laugh. Estinien's attention turned to the sounds, attuned to them, the words themselves indistinct but the inflection and nuance sketching a picture. His oldest friend's warm, half-hooded gaze, and the way she tipped her head to smile up at him, the angle a few degrees sharper than usual to account for the closeness. A closeness that hadn't been there before.

X'sana raised her voice to be heard, "I'm relieved to hear you sounding much more yourself. I've business to attend in the south and wanted to wish you well before leaving."

"I've had all the well-wishing I can handle. Go on then," he said gruffly, all the more resolute in his decision to not open that door for an awkward farewell.

"Until next time," she said, and then the fading sound of her footsteps took her away on another adventure.

A long pause followed. Estinien could easily picture Aymeric on the other side of the door, arms loosely folded while waiting, and once X'sana was well out of earshot, he and his damnable astuteness finally posed the question, "Are you quite certain about this?"

Estinien smothered a groan. _Seven bloody hells._ "Must you come here to nag at me?"

"If you'd remained at the infirmary you might have put it off a while longer," Aymeric pointed out, because of course he'd been waiting for an opportunity and Estinien relocating somewhere more private was like serving it to him on a silver platter. Aymeric de Borel did not get to where he was by missing such chances. "Open up, I'm sure you'd rather not talk like this."

"I'd rather not talk at all." But there was no avoiding it at this point, so with some effort and more than some reluctance he let his entirely too observant friend inside. Estinien would have liked to lean against the wall with his arms crossed, imposing, but sensing the imminent failure of that he settled for sitting on the edge of his bed. Mostly upright was better than collapsed. He scowled all the same. "The answer is yes, by the way, and I turn the same question now to you."

Aymeric scrutinized him, interpreting the words and somehow finding meaning in them that Estinien hadn't consciously considered. "You think it's a bad idea," he surmised, completely skipping over the actual question but the confirmation was still implied. Infuriating political speak.

"I think you have an unfortunate attraction to a certain type."

A dark eyebrow rose. "I suppose you _would_ be an authority on that."

Estinien growled. "Indeed, _I would know_. But never mind the past. 'Tis not my place to warn you off and I can hardly blame you; court her if you haven't started already. Only consider this: she is an adventurer at heart and will take her heart with her wherever she goes."

Aymeric had his impenetrable lord’s face on, which in this context meant he was aware of the matter and chose to keep his counsel. As long as he knew, the rest wasn’t Estinien’s business. He had no claim on either of them. But Aymeric, damn the man, persisted with his digging. "Will you not go with her then?"

"We are too alike," Estinien immediately dismissed, but the obvious doubt on Aymeric’s elegantly carved features curdled the lie on his tongue.

“Yes, I am well familiar with your opinions on suitability and commitment. Make no mistake,” he added the moment Estinien opened his mouth, “‘tis not my intent to retrace that old dance, and moreover, I believe that time has settled us comfortably in our chosen places. But your place, my friend... I had thought—hoped, even—that you might have found your match.”

“Bah, spare me the romantic nonsense.” He summoned every onze of his disgust for such drivel, although this only seemed to earn a look of dry amusement.

“Call it whatever you wish. But look me in the eye and tell me that I’m wrong.”

Estinien surged to his feet, glaring, and frustratingly unsteady in his weakened state. He dragged up a fistful of Aymeric's coat. “Then what would you have me say? What would you have me do? Follow her? Look only to recent events and 'tis clear that _I have not the right_.”

"To me, that is what sounds like nonsense." The flash of sympathy in Aymeric's frozen-lake eyes was thankfully brief. He knew better than most—better than anyone, probably—the precise line that one did not cross when it came to Estinien's patience unless one was asking for a lance pointed in their face. Which wasn't to say that Aymeric had never intentionally crossed that line before. For now, though, he backed down. "But I see that you won't be swayed. Very well, I shall let the matter rest."

"You might have done so from the beginning." Estinien released him with a push to make his lingering ire known and summarily dropped back onto the bed. A _controlled_ collapse, thank you very much.

Aymeric took a seat next to him, formality loosening until he very nearly slouched, and for a moment they were just a pair of ordinary knights, as they'd been when they were young new recruits. "By your reckoning, then, does anyone on this star have the right?"

"Planning to take up adventuring, are you?"

A long, deep sigh. "Perhaps... once the new government is established..."

They both knew it to be wishful thinking.

"Then no," Estinien said decisively, loyally. "No one else is deserving."

* * *

It was an afterthought, leaving the broken halves of his sceau de chevalier on the bedside table. Stamped with the Ishgardian coat of arms on one side, and bearing his name and order on the other, Estinien had no more need of the thing. He was frankly amazed that it had remained on his person for so long instead of being lost gods knew where. The pieces had been retrieved by the chirurgeons when they prised him out of the cursed armor, but why anyone felt a need to preserve the fragments for him was a mystery. Had he chosen to resume his station he would have been issued a new and whole sceau, no different from the original, and the broken pieces would have been melted down for some other use. They likely still would. He could save some poor sod of an errand boy a bit of effort and take them to the foundry on his way to the gates.

In the end, he left the pieces where they were. A certain person had made a hobby of collecting such scraps and fashioning them into baubles: a broken arrowhead and a tuft of snow wolf fur into an earring that now dangled from Alphinaud's ear, a gaudy brooch of gold wire and green crystal from the Sea of Clouds that Emmanellain wore pinned to his breast, a miniature propeller and set of gears on a chain that looped across one of Cid Garlond's pouches.

A bracelet of storied ornaments wrapped around a tanned wrist.

Estinien was not sentimental enough to hold onto the pieces of his former station, nor hand them over, but if the small, uncorrupted remnants of the Azure Dragoon happened to find their way into her hands, and she had use for them, then that would be well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, if it wasn't obvious, I love the disaster dragoon and hurt myself writing this. (╥_╥)
> 
> Time to hurt myself some more with the Aymeric chapter.


	4. Au revoir, petit papillon (1/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WoL/Aymeric, a doomed romance from the start but carpe diem and all that. Part 1 of 2.

_Dans mes rêves elle est ici (In my dreams she is here)_  
 _Tout autour le paradis (And everything around is paradise)_  
 _Elle soulève mon cœur de sa douleur (She lifts my heart out of its sadness)_  
 _Et rend le monde lumineux (And makes the world seem bright)_  
— Petit Papillon, Eurielle

Truthfully, X'sana didn't much care for being brought to the table as a bargaining chip, or made into a spectacle, or whatever this request wanted of her. If it was merely a request for a meeting, even as a pretense to ask her to kill something big and scary and dangerous, then that would be fine. Oddly formal by her (admittedly base) standards, but fine.

When Alphinaud latched onto the idea with all his political acumen, though, and clarified that her presence was a matter of facilitating negotiation, her attitude curdled. Diplomacy was not her calling. She could slay primals and demolish magitek with her fists, but in battles of debate her only experience was haggling over prices in the market, and her record there wasn't too good. It didn't help that Alphinaud's eagerness for the opportunity tipped him over the line into pretentious lecturing. Only an exasperated fondness for her young friend, and a respect for the tireless effort he was putting into the Crystal Braves, smoothed her fur enough to agree to the whole thing.

And so they soon arrived at Camp Dragonhead, where X'sana was sorely tempted to accept Haurchefant's blatant invitation to a warm hearth in hopes that it would make the trip more bearable... alas, they were all too quickly ushered to the intercessory. It wouldn't do to keep the distinguished ambassador waiting.

X'sana was never going to be much for manners, it seemed.

Her ears swiveled to catch the sound of approaching footsteps, more than one pair with the steady, weighted tread of armored knights, and then the door opened. Fabric rustled. There was less clanking than she'd come to expect from Ishgardian knights in their cold and heavy chainmail. X'sana glanced towards the entrance and then drew in a single, sharp breath, swallowing the half-formed curse that almost leaped reflexively from her throat because _by the Twelve_.

They were a sight, the both of them, tall and elegant and gods-blessed beautiful in that stately, formal way that intimidated X'sana far more than any summoned god. Militaristic, too, which should have been more familiar to her but these were clearly not the same as the soldiers of the rugged, inhospital (with one exception) highlands. More like the knights of fairy tales, noble and courtly.

Then Ser Aymeric of the Temple Knights opened his mouth and spoke, and the velvet touch of each word did a damn fine job of distracting X'sana from her remaining annoyance and caution. A shiver melted down her spine when he turned his intent, frost-blue gaze on her and admitted to " _an interest bordering on fascination._ "

Oh, he was good. He meant what he said and he knew exactly how to say it. Debate had never been her strong suit; she'd sooner lie down and admit defeat before attempting to match wits and words with him.

X'sana spared a moment's pity for Alphinaud, brilliant and confident but so very young, brimming with the will but lacking the means to move the other players as he wished. Whatever advantage they thought they might have with her here, it was not going to be enough to take control of the conversation.

In the end, she had nothing to contribute to the discussion, not even as a showpiece, serving only as a witness to Alphinaud's impassioned but futile attempts to persuade the representative. Until the interruption at the end, X'sana's presence had been entirely useless, and then she had other matters on her mind, heretics to chase, and soon enough another primal threat to eliminate.

She would occasionally wonder, though, about Ser Aymeric's expressed _interest_ , and what he really wanted from her beneath the alluring preamble.

* * *

Dragonfire scorched the snowy hills and set the ice to steaming, while the very air vibrated with the thrum of leather wingbeats, a chorus of roars rising to pitched frenzy as the Horde fell upon them with teeth and talons. Among the men, an answering rally of, "For Ishgard!" joined the crash and rattle of steel on scale. The fury of battle consumed all.

Naegling's sapphire glare struck deep, pulling forth a messy arc of blood that darkened the frozen ground at Aymeric's feet. Jaws snapped at him, bristling, and then let out a gurgling, choked-off cry when another swing of his blade opened the wyrm's throat. Its heavy body collapsed, wings crumpling, but behind it came more of its kin.

They rushed across the ground and swooped down from the air. Arrow and sword felled many, but still the Dravanians pressed, leaving knights battered and broken in their relentless wake. The crushed, mangled bodies were in no fit state to be seen by their families before burial. If they even had any family remaining. Many had answered the emergency call to bolster their forces, eager for revenge or for glory, and found little of either as they were trampled under clawed feet. But it was all for honor, for Ishgard, for celebrated passage into Halone's halls. A most righteous death toll; a thousand years of great and noble sacrifice.

Yet as Aymeric looked across the raging battlefield, he saw only a glut of butchery. Generations of this, with no end in sight, cleaving to a doctrine that would have every single Ishgardian lay down their life in service to an unwinnable war—yes, _unwinnable_ , so long as nothing changed. A thousand years of stalemate ought to be proof enough of that.

It wasn't that people didn't realize. They simply didn't care, or see any other way, and so they embraced what they knew with fervor and would not be moved until Aymeric could provide more than rhetoric and baseless promises. He only needed the means.

And finally, he had found it. If there was a silver lining to the Dravanians' attack, he now had an excuse to build upon what he'd started.

Although he would need to survive the battle first. Their numbers had fallen drastically, leaving them spread thin, and the dragons were pushing inward through a break in the ranks. Aymeric marked Lucia's position nearby where she fended off a wyvern and forced it to the ground with a silver streak of her blade. The crippled wyvern lashed at her but was denied by her shield, and then promptly slain. In the brief reprieve that followed, she caught Aymeric's eye and nodded once.

He gave the order to fall back and shore up, leaving dependable Lucia to fill in the gap as he went to provide reinforcement where it was needed most.

Yet he found himself beaten to it as a dark shape came plummeting down from the sky with explosive force. The dragons shrieked ever more fiercely, their rage palpable and earth-shaking as they all turned on the one who had landed in their midst, pulling his lance from a foe's shattered spine and raising the bloody point in domineering challenge.

Innumerable fangs and claws fought to reach him. Estinien tore through them with brutal efficiency, with a savageness that strained at the seams of his training—and the Knights Dragoon were not known for being trained gently. This was a vicious way of fighting even for one of them. The Azure Dragoon had ever stood closest in might to their monstrous foe, a hero of the people, but capable, it seemed, of becoming monstrous in turn.

Aymeric pushed aside his concern. They needed that strength right now to see the battle through and had not the luxury to worry about anything else. "You are late," he called, and rather than lend his aid to Estinien directly, Aymeric turned his sword on the outlying scalekin that meant to converge on the Azure Dragoon. The Eye of Nidhogg appearing on the field proved too great a lure for them to resist.

"Imagine my ire," Estinien said, dispatching another wyrm with a scale-piercing thrust, "when the Horde ceased to harry me and I was forced to chase after _them_ instead."

"Well, you've certainly reclaimed their attention."

A dragon flapping overhead reared its head back, flames gathering and dripping embers from its mouth. Proving that he'd lost none of his grace in the intervening time, regardless of other changes, Estinien launched himself effortlessly into the air and his lance found its mark in a scaled underbelly. The force of the blow flipped the dragon over, its fiery breath loosed harmlessly at the sky before the body was sent crashing to the ground, where it was pinned under the lance tip and spurred feet of the victor.

The tide of the battle turned, though in the end, it was far from a resounding victory. Their dead lay scattered across the bloodied snowfields, banners broken and trampled, and Ishgard paid yet another heavy price for that much-vaunted glory and honor. She would pay more soon enough, the Dravanian assault merely paused for now.

Aymeric wasted no time in sending Lucia to Mor Dhona with a message. Then, after ensuring that they had enough resources for the wounded and setting people to the grim task of collecting and cataloging the dead, he returned to Ishgard with Estinien to secure the Eye once more in the Vault.

Estinien's presence caused something of a stir given how he'd absconded with the Eye in the first place. Ser Alberic had cleared his name of heresy but a great many feathers remained ruffled, and Aymeric had not the time nor the patience to smooth them; however, the dragoon at fault made himself conspicuously absent at first opportunity, leaving Aymeric to handle the mess.

Fortunately, being fresh off the battlefield with dragons' blood staining his long coat stiff, and Naegling resting prominently on his person, the various lords and clergy backed down with gratifying swiftness. If only it could be so easy all the time.

He'd barely managed to finish cleaning himself up when Estinien reappeared, folding his long body through Aymeric's window like a swain sneaking into a lady's bedroom. Aymeric had half a mind to force him back out at swordpoint and make him use the door like a civilized person.

"I see that your time away has only worsened your manners." He dragged a towel roughly over his damp hair, was relieved to see that there was no blood residue left after the hurried wash, and otherwise let it curl however it wanted to.

"And you are as busy as ever. I'm shocked to find you here and not at the war table already." Estinien cocked his helmed head, smirk visible beneath his visor. "But word has spread of your recent overtures to the Scions. The Warrior of Light must live up to the tales for you to court her favor so."

"Most would consider making oneself presentable for a diplomatic meeting a common courtesy... but you are not wrong. I mean to request her assistance on the field and, if possible, draw on her influence with the leaders of the Eorzean Alliance."

Estinien snorted. "They'll tell us to bugger off and you know it."

"Which is why, for now, it is enough to gain the Scions as allies." It would have to be enough, and if they turned back their ancient enemy with the help of outsiders for all on the field to see, high and low... then it would be something. A single step perhaps, but something more to build on. Aymeric donned a fresh set of armor, clasping the pieces in place, and sent Estinien a meaningful look. "You mean to accompany me, I take it?"

"I would insist," he said with rare willingness to attend a diplomatic affair. No need to wonder what, or who, prompted this exception.

Estinien was going to like her, this much Aymeric could foresee. Even beyond her respectable might, the two were similar in a way, preferring to be pointed at an objective and let loose, allowing their actions to speak for them. As such, they were both prone to unfortunate recklessness. And they shared a disdain for the dance of politics, as a matter of taste rather than a lack of awareness; the Warrior of Light had followed Aymeric's discussion with Alphinaud clearly enough and noticed the shifts of balance, slightly impatient throughout, eager to be useful elsewhere. She was friendly towards him, but somewhat aloof. Receptive, but just a bit reserved. She could intuit that he meant to use her, not simply for the routing of heretics or slaying of primals, but for a more bothersome, political purpose.

Aymeric could only inwardly apologize and trust that his cause was worthy of her.

"Excellent," he said, glad for his friend's timely return and support. Estinien's _company_ could be frustratingly fleeting, in more ways than one, but as a son of Ishgard he was unquestionably committed. "Then let us away—"

A deep, resounding boom rocked the air. In the time it took for Aymeric to go pale, Estinien was already leaning out the window, gauntlet gripping the ledge hard enough to scar the stone. "It's the Gates," he confirmed, voice grim, for at this distance the target could be nothing else.

"How many?"

"Of the Dravanians? None." Estinien's lip curled. "But I daresay they'll arrive soon enough to a most heretical welcome. It appears our meeting with the Scions will be delayed."

"To the Gates first," Aymeric agreed.

* * *

It was not often that Aymeric struggled to find the correct words to say, but struggle he did in the pall that followed the events at the Vault. Sympathies and sorrows seemed not enough. The vitriolic curses spat by Estinien cast a baleful light over the gloom. Aymeric kept a tight rein on his own grief, inasmuch as he could when the highlights of his personal failure and despair were laid bare for the Warrior of Light to witness. He turned instead to business, hardening his heart, though the answering hardness in X'sana was an unexpected blow, a stab of anguish that bled in his chest. And like any proper Ishgardian knight who'd been raised on treacherous tales of valor and a dogma of lies, he staunched the wound, looked away, and focused on his duty.

Work was a guilty distraction for suns after. His father had left him with a shattered faith and a city thrown headlong into chaos, its people in desperate need of stability, assurance, and basic governmental management. Aymeric made every effort to hold Ishgard together while the church clamored for answers and the highborn quarrelled ceaselessly. He was immensely grateful for Hilda, who did much to ease and organize the commoners.

But some things could not be put off forever, nor should they be. So when he heard that X'sana had returned to Ishgard, successful in finding her fellow Scion, Aymeric made time to see her in the brief window before she once again departed. He paid a visit to House Fortemps instead of summoning her to the Congregation; it was not in his capacity as Lord Commander that he wanted to speak with her.

Given the abruptness of his social call, he would not have been surprised to be turned away. A shameful part of him might even be relieved if that were to be the case. But a manservant saw him in and Aymeric soon found himself waiting in the parlor, still unsure of exactly what he wanted to say, only that it was a disservice to her if he continued to avoid it.

Minutes passed and he did not resent them. He barely even thought about the tasks awaiting him after this. They would all be seen to in time, but X'sana was ever on the move, keeping herself as busy as he was. From the beginning, Aymeric had always been the one to seek her out.

Her light footsteps finally approached and something in his chest wound tight at the sight of her, eyes reddened and face drawn pale. He'd never seen her so undone, or so clearly tired, not even when she'd come to make her report straight out of battle with Shiva. How long ago that seemed. Not everything could be struck down with her fists, and those proved to be the hardest battles.

"Ser Aymeric,” X’sana greeted, voice low and laden with long-held exhaustion. “Pray forgive the wait, I was... preoccupied."

Guilt pricked at him for disturbing her, and for more besides. "Nay, I am the one who called upon you unannounced. Thank you for taking the time to see me."

"Of course, you need only ask." The smile she summoned from some impossible reserve of strength was a fragile, precious sight, and he was both relieved and pierced to see it after its somber absence. She was... changed. No longer hard and cold with impenetrable grief. Broken down into pieces, yet holding herself together _somehow,_ with or without his help, and did he even have the right to offer her his support, his apologies, anything?

"I fear I've already asked much and more of you," he confessed, dragging the words from where they'd lain deep within for some time now. Since the beginning, perhaps. He'd needed a hero, someone destined to mark the annals of history, someone capable of knocking Ishgard off its doomed tracks so he could build towards something better. His was a righteous cause, he'd thought. And in that sense, he truly was his father's son.

Her smile faded, head tilting. The liquid gold of her cat's eyes searched his face. "I think you've asked no more than anyone who's needed my help. Which I freely gave."

"Not without reservation at first," Aymeric said, and her caution had been well-deserved.

"Noticed that, did you? But of course you did." The tiny, upward turn of her lips was wry this time, her gaze turning warm. "That wasn't all because of you, though. And I trust you completely now."

"Even—" His throat constricted around the words, heavy with emotion, the weight of them falling regretful and ugly from his supposedly silver tongue. "Even though I rushed headlong like a fool into a confrontation that led to... to..."

X'sana closed her eyes and he fell silent as if commanded, awaiting judgment. Her chest rose and fell with a deep, deep breath, the faint shake of it holding his utmost attention, and when she blinked her eyes open again they shimmered wet. The upward cant of her face might have been the only thing that kept fresh tears from falling as she gave a slight shake of her head. "We all made choices that led to that point. 'Tis no use finding fault in them now. But I do trust you, precisely because you are the sort of man who would rush to right a wrong that has caused immeasurable suffering. If you think yourself foolish for it, then you are in good company, and I only ask that you bring me along next time."

"Yes, of course," he said, voice catching. His fingers twitched with the inappropriate urge to wipe away the dampness collected on her lashes. "Should there be a next time, I daresay you'll keep me out of trouble."

She laughed then, choking a bit on the sound, but the sweet release of it eased the tight fist gripped inside his chest. "Have you met me, ser? Trouble is my constant companion. What I meant is, I would stand by your side and face any such trouble together. Your cause is my own. We are friends, are we not?"

"An honor I hardly deserve," Aymeric said, and he could not help but lean towards her in what could pass for an acknowledging bow, but in truth was more of a helpless pull. "Nonetheless, I am proud to call you my friend, and pledge my own support whether through my station or beyond for your own needs."

"Always so formal." X'sana shook her head, smiling. "Then, if the gentleman would be so kind as to provide an escort to the plaza? I've made Y'shtola and Alphinaud wait long enough."

"Ah, of course. I must apologize for keeping you. After you, my lady."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, tail swishing behind the unconscious sway of her hips, and he saw her off at the Aetheryte Plaza with a significantly lighter heart.

Later, when it was some bells into the evening, Aymeric was listening to Lucia's report on the current state of the city, a summarized account of daily accomplishments, tasks in progress, and areas that needed attention. The movements and attitudes of the citizens, high and lowborn alike, were included.

"House Moncel continues to emphatically call for the Inquisition to conduct a large-scale investigation, and the Chief Inquisitor continues to dismiss the request on account of there being no one with the authority to sanction it." Thank the Fury for _that_. Aymeric sipped his tea, briefly grateful for the Holy See's dependence on the archbishop. "The other houses, in contrast, have quieted."

He blinked. "Glad as I am for that, I cannot imagine why."

"Allow me to amend my previous statement: rather than quiet, they are merely distracted."

"By what, pray tell?" Her poker face was making him nervous. He took another fortifying sip.

"A rumor," Lucia said, and then betrayed a hint of amusement in the slight arch of a platinum brow. "Regarding a certain bachelor voted Ishgard's Most Eligible in the high society column for three years running, who took time out of his famously busy schedule to make a social call in the middle of the day, and therefore _must_ be courting."

Aymeric choked on his tea.

* * *

When Aymeric opened his eyes, he immediately recognized the sluggish signs of a magic-induced torpor. The grogginess of his head and the disconnected heaviness of his limbs would have been more alarming if he hadn't also recognized the ceiling of his chambers at the Congregation where he ended up spending most of his nights. Then came the recent memories: the Vault, the hostages, the blessed sight of Vidofnir skimming low over the heads of all assembled, bearing witness to the scene of their once-hated enemy literally swooping down from the sky to save an innocent child.

He breathed out a sigh of relief all over again. The hostages had been saved, all of them, and the citizens had proof of his claims that peace could be forged with dragonkind. Truly, it was more perfect than any plan he could have concocted. A good start, with much more work to be done if they wanted to see the dream realized.

"I hope that was a sigh of reflection and means 'I'll never push myself past my limits again.' Now I know how Alphinaud feels."

"X'sana?" His head turned and he struggled to sit up, partly out of etiquette and partly out of an urgent fear that something had gone terribly wrong while he slept. Unfortunately, the spell had not fully released its grip on him, and the ache in his abdomen—along with several freshly healed injuries—reminded him that there was probably a reason for that. "Why are you—what has happened?"

She sat back in the desk chair pulled next to his bed, arms folded and leg crossed over her knee. "Nothing's happened, save for you fainting the moment you crossed the threshold into your office. I suppose that's when the adrenaline wore off." Those were words of experience, spoken sarcastically, but her expression was a little bit sympathetic.

Grimacing, Aymeric finally recalled how the high of success had eventually crashed over him and he'd been taken under by a bone-deep exhaustion. All right, he might have pushed himself too much, cutting his convalescence short to storm the Vault and then insisting that he hold Simeonard off on his own... but fainting? Really? "I apologize. You seem to have a knack for finding me in embarrassing moments."

"'Embarrassing,' he says." Rolling her eyes, she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. "I was _worried_ about you. Lucia and Captain Abel kept it quiet, so I wouldn't have heard a thing if I hadn't stopped by to let you know I'd be away for a while."

"Oh. I... I see." His eloquence failed him. He could blame the magic, but the real problem was the way she looked at him, pupils large in the dim light of the room. She'd been worried. About him. Enough to stay by his side for—it must have been a few bells at least, and she had somewhere else to be, of course she did, she was the Warrior of Light and always in demand. Aymeric swallowed what he most wanted to ask, having no right to ask it, and instead forced out, "Where are you headed?"

"Limsa Lominsa first, and onward to Mor Dhona after. But not until tomorrow, I think. I'm... quite tired after everything today." Her shoulders slumped, gaze dropping to somewhere around her knees. With halting, low-spoken words, she admitted, "Part of me was terrified to go in there again, you know. The Vault. And when I had to leave you behind, the whole time I could only think, what if...? Then I heard you'd collapsed and I just... couldn't bear the thought..." Pressing a hand over her eyes, she drew in a steadying breath. "Forgive me. I'm a bit..."

Unable to lie there any longer, Aymeric made another effort to rise, and failing that, he simply reached for her. This time, he couldn't pretend to blame anything but the swell of yearning in him that would no longer be ignored.

She startled at the touch against her wrist, lowering her hand with a frown and a mumble of, "Don't, you need to rest—" And then she fell silent when he lightly gripped her fingers, sweeping his thumb up and down her roughened knuckles and feeling the pads of her fingertips twitch against his palm.

He traced the dips and contours of her hand. Learned the small wrinkles of skin and knobs of bone, the callouses and scars. The slight tickle of her short, round nails as her fingers curled into his exploratory touch. When he parted her fingers with his in a slow, purposeful slide, her breath caught, and when he grasped and drew her hand close, the rest of her followed.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said, even while the mattress dipped under the prop of her arm and she watched, entranced, as he brought her hand to his mouth, touched his lips to the back of it and let himself linger on the faint tracing of her veins.

“Then shall I stop?” He breathed the words against her skin, reluctant to part, but if she wished it then he’d withdraw at once and never presume again.

She trembled slightly. Or that might have been him. But X’sana’s fingers definitely squeezed his and then he was pressing her hand close to his chest, over his fervently beating heart, and reaching to stroke the curve of her cheek where her markings grew in. The sharp, shaded lines had no texture under his curious fingertips. It was embarrassing to admit, but he’d done some research on Miqo’te characteristics and customs in advance of their first meeting, sifting through questionably biased accounts and thoroughly outlandish stereotypes for any tidbits of actual use. All so that he might court the Warrior of Light’s favor without offending.

And, Aymeric supposed with some chagrin, he would be courting her proper now if she allowed it. Just when that awkward rumor had begun to fall out of society’s constant circulation of gossip.

Oh well. There was no helping it. Not when she leaned into his touch, and then leaned towards him, and he pulled her close with a hand buried in her hair to welcome the softness of her mouth gracing his. A warm, gentle press, and then a sigh passed between her lips. The veil of her lashes flickered and he caught a brief glimpse of gold underneath, hesitating, though the hue was molten with want.

Her conflict sent a pang through him, though it was only to be expected. She grieved, still. Twice over. He himself hadn't fully come to terms with the news, the idea that his closest friend was lost to them; having not seen it happen with his own eyes, Aymeric could yet find the notion unreal. Could still hope that Estinien might reappear before them, growl threateningly at their concern, and then hide himself away somewhere until Aymeric sought him out to have the sort of conversation that Estinien hated most. Aymeric had noticed, after all. The things Estinien said and didn't say in his report, the way his hidden gaze would always keep her within sight, the subtle and not-so-subtle tells and habits—such as practically stalking her through the city in those days leading up to Azys Lla.

Aymeric's heart ached, but it also burned. He let his fingers glide through X'sana's hair, sleek and decadent the way the burgundy strands slipped from his grasp and fell past her shoulders for the lighter, rosy tips to brush against his neck. "You needn't worry so," he told her, cradling the back of her head and tipping his mouth once more into hers.

She made a helpless sound, responding to him with a butterfly flutter of pressing close and then pulling away. Not too far, though. "I'm—I'm afraid that I—"

"I understand," he murmured, and he did. Aymeric wasn't as certain of her mind and heart as he was of his oldest friend's, but he'd wager he knew enough. If nothing else, he recognized the type from past experience and wondered what that said about him. "This is pure selfishness on my part. If you'd like, we can blame Captain Abel for whatever confounding magic was put on me."

A small, breathless laugh escaped her, and he kissed the shape of her smile, memorizing how it felt. He might not get another chance. "It was for your own good, I'll remind you. You should be resting even now."

The strong urge to pout and insist that he wasn't that tired was worryingly reminiscent of his childhood, of late nights spent studying and training and finally being coaxed to bed by his adoptive mother with the promise of a warm, sweetened drink. "I'll manage," he said, certain that he could out-stubborn the lethargy clinging to his limbs.

"You'll do no such thing." Her tone was firm and decided. Aymeric felt his heart drop, greedy and undeserving lump that it was, but then she settled her mouth over his with far more confidence than previously and chased his disappointment away. "You're going to eat something and then get a good night's rest," she ordered, withdrawing just enough to tap her forehead against his. "And I'll stay with you until morning. If you'll permit, that is."

"Blessed Halone, of course I will. I'd love nothing more than to wake up with you in my arms." His palm cupped the back of her slender neck, relishing the warmth of her skin and the liberties she was allowing him to take.

The flush that spread across her cheeks and under his fingers was also a delight. "You—the lot of you are so—is it something they teach in Ishgard? Is that it?"

It took a moment to guess at her meaning. Then he couldn't help but raise a brow. "Do other nations have no concept of romance?"

"Well, I wouldn't know," she muttered, sitting up and looking away. "And it's not strictly romance per se, that one's all you..."

"Beg pardon. You mean to say, our dear Warrior of Light has never been properly romanced?"

X'sana gave him a stoic look and gestured at herself. "Slayer of primals. Destroyer of magitek. Punches people in the face on the regular and occasionally moonlights as a knife in the shadows. Not very romanceable."

Not unless one was Aymeric. Or Estinien, although he'd balk at the terminology. Or Haurchefant. Was it an Ishgardian predilection after all? That couldn't be right. But it might bear investigating.

"And I'm not sure I would enjoy romance very much." She frowned, clearly imagining it. Or imagining something at any rate, probably nothing that Aymeric would consider the proper way to court someone like her.

Truthfully, he hadn't the time or inclination to engage in any sort of personal affair before—nothing that would count as courting, at least. But he generally knew how the game was played, and if the high society column in the paper was any indication, he played it well enough at the myriad of formal events and social functions his station required him to attend. It was usually political in those cases, where charm, a soft touch, and impeccable conduct did much to ease the hostility of the most stubbornly traditional houses.

So it was with a moderate amount of confidence, and for pleasure rather than business, that he brought her hand to his mouth again and left a light, but lingering kiss on her fingers. Despite her protests against romance and anxieties about highborn Ishgardian etiquette, she succumbed beautifully to the small flirtations and courtesies. He gazed up at her blushing face and said to her with a hint of challenge, "We'll have to see about that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting long so it's being split into two parts. And it's been a struggle to figure out all the scenes I want to include. But at least I am finally done writing post-Vault angst! I can't believe I made myself go through that three times in a row... haha... （ ＴДＴ）


	5. Au revoir, petit papillon (2/2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WoL/Aymeric, a doomed romance from the start but carpe diem and all that. Part 2 of 2.
> 
> "I don't want to write long chapters," I said and then wrote 13.5k, like a liar.
> 
> **Explicit** for the usual reasons, featuring light D/s and a whole lot of feelings.

_Elle est comme un papillon (She is like a butterfly)_  
 _Dansant devant mes yeux (Dancing before my eyes)_  
 _Elle vole jusqu'à l'horizon (She flies to the horizon)_  
 _Rien ne lui fait peur (Nothing scares her)_  
 _Au revoir, petit papillon (Goodbye, little butterfly)_  
— Petit Papillon, Eurielle

A festive mood swept through the entire city following their victory at the grand melee, persisting from one sun to the next and most likely into a third at this rate. Nobles and knights and common folk alike shared stories about the battle everywhere X'sana went, the details more extravagant than they'd been yesterday—although the ring of fire for her one-on-one duel with General Raubahn held true and the tale sounded as impressive as it'd been to experience. Smiling to herself, she approached the doors to the Congregation with light steps and relaxed shoulders. It had been far too long since she had that kind of fight, that kind of rousing, untainted victory, where everything ended in a better place than it had begun. Morale in Ishgard was high, the bonds between the allied nations were strengthened, and tonight, perhaps, the ever-busy Lord Commander of the Temple Knights might enjoy some leisure for a change. He'd promised her a drink, after all.

"My apologies, X'sana, the Lord Commander and First Commander have both been invited to attend a formal ball hosted by House Durendaire this evening." Ser Handeloup informed her thus with a regretful incline of his head and an earnest hand over his heart. "If you need, however, I can contact them at once."

"No, that's all right, it's not important." She should have known, though. Someone who was the de facto head of state must have his schedule filled for weeks in advance.

_If I asked, he'd probably make time for me._

X'sana pushed the unworthy thought away. He'd once expressed regret for asking too much of her and she wasn't about to start asking too much of him. She would take only what she could give back and that made the tangle of emotion in her chest manageable, its bittersweet, reaching tendrils trimmed to a fist-sized knot behind her ribs and carefully tended ever since she woke up in his bed and let him melt her into the sheets with his mouth to prove how very well-rested he was. He called himself selfish and she could not imagine a more ill-fitting word to describe the man who gave himself so tirelessly for his people; who wanted to do right by all sorts be they noble or common, man or dragon; who loved far more deeply than anyone ought to love a vagabond like her.

She'd spent that night with him more sleepless than usual, wondering if this was a terrible idea. The thorny prick of guilt indicated yes, but a part of her strained against that and yearned for him very much, and he was the most beautiful man she'd ever laid eyes on, and X'sana was so very, very tired of losing people she cared about. For now, the solace of his company was worth the price and she would not ask for a single thing more.

Her celebratory mood gone, X'sana returned to the Fortemps manor, only to be accosted the moment she entered.

"There you are, old girl! Just when we were about to send a search party."

"Lord Emmanellain," she greeted warily. Her gaze shifted to his side where Honoroit typically stood, but the boy was still recovering and in his place was, for some odd reason, Tataru. A Tataru who had exchanged her usual tabard and beret for a ruffled pink dress and sparkling tiara.

"X'sana, you're just in time! In time to be fashionably late, that is. Alphinaud already went ahead, he couldn't wait to hobnob with the elite of Ishgard."

Oh, no. "I'm actually not feeling well, I'll just head to my room now—"

"Nonsense!" Emmanellain spread his arms wide, effectively cutting off her escape route. "The hero of the grand melee simply must make an appearance."

She considered backing out the door and making a break for the Brume. They wouldn't follow her there while dressed like that. "I don't even have an invitation..."

Emmanellain produced an envelope with her name on it in flawless calligraphy.

"...Or anything suitable to wear..."

A dress box appeared—from somewhere—in Tataru's hands.

X'sana looked between the invitation and the dress suspiciously. "Did you two... steal my mail and—and _plan_ this behind my back?"

Emmanellain beamed. "Brilliant teamwork, if I do say so myself."

She was about to implement her plan to flee back outside when Tataru spoke up, wheedling, "Come on, X'sana, think of all the beautiful people and decorations! Think of the _food_."

She wavered. She could make sacrifices for delicious food, but at the cost of formal dining etiquette in a fancy dress with dozens of eyes on her? Was it worth it?

Tataru wiggled the dress box. "This wasn't easy to get on short notice, you know! I do hope it fits, 'twould be a shame to have spent all that money for nothing..."

And now the guilt. But X'sana could harden her heart against that, she hadn't asked for any such gift.

"Everyone will be there!"

...'Everyone' included Aymeric. Busy, breathtaking Aymeric at his most handsome and most courtly—and he _knew_ she had a weakness for that, she was sure of it, which meant that attending the ball would be like walking into the coeurl's den. She would most likely end up making a fool of herself. She was certainly going to be out of her element. The politicking, the parading, the dozens of lords and ladies who expected a legendary hero out of some storybook adventure, as if recent events hadn't cautioned them against believing in such fanciful tales. Oh, she was going to hate it. But Twelve have mercy, she was going to attend that ball.

* * *

X'sana had no idea where Tataru had found a dress in her size, but it draped around her in folds of shimmering champagne silk embroidered with a climbing leaf pattern, and was as pretty as it was impossible to move around in. The hoop skirt underneath was ridiculous. The stays were uncomfortable. Emmanellain had found an aesthetician somewhere, a sophisticated and severe woman who urged her to tighten the laces and sniffed in disapproval when X'sana flatly rejected the advice. More dissatisfied noises were made at her nonremovable facial markings, and the disparaging remarks uttered in traditional Elezen over her head were not nearly as circumspect as the woman thought. In the end, X'sana would have preferred to summon Jandelaine. She still had his token somewhere in her belongings where it was going to waste because when would she _ever_ have need of an aesthetician's services again?

When she finally left the manor, it was with an awkwardly short stride in slim-heeled slippers, her hair curled and twisted up and sprayed until her nose itched, and her eyelids weighed down with shadow and sticky lashes. Despite her legs being hampered, she outpaced her two companions to their destination because the sooner she saw Aymeric, the sooner this would be worth it. If he didn't find the getup ludicrous, anyway. She obviously did not meet any Ishgardian standards of beauty.

They seemed to be a bit more than fashionably late with no other guests arriving before or after them, but if this annoyed the Durendaire manservant accepting their invitations, he had the manners not to show it. Although he might have given Emmanellain a briefly haughty look, either for the young lord personally or due to the rivalry between their houses.

The warmth inside the manor was welcome as X'sana shed her cloak, and the ballroom itself was crowded and busy enough for her to enter with little fanfare. Being three heads shorter than most also helped with that. Still, once someone called out to her, so did several others. Introductions flew and she had no hope of remembering all of them by name. Not a single face was familiar. But when asked about the grand melee she could respond easily enough, and it was certainly the safest topic. A divide became apparent among the gathered highborn consisting of mostly younger lords and a few ladies. One or two ventured to ask about her times in Dravania and the rest of Eorzea, and most would listen with rapt attention, but the others, usually older lords, wore contemptuous, snooty faces of disapproval.

"Enough about the bloody dragons," one of them snapped at a particularly enthusiastic lordling. "Such talk shall have you tried for heresy!"

"How can it be heresy when the teachings were built on a foundation of lies?"

"Even if this so-called betrayal happened, that was a millennia ago. We've spilled our blood over and over, the blood of our brothers and our children, and now we're to bow before those murdering beasts and admit fault? Nay, I'll never accept it!"

This was not a debate X'sana wanted to be involved in. She would end up punching someone, getting blood on the expensive dress, and ruining any chance of having a halfway pleasant evening at this damnable event. Wondering if she could get away with a stealthy exit, an unlikely savior came to her rescue.

"X'sana, how good to see a face that don't have a stick up its arse."

A formal ball at House Durendaire was the last place anyone would expect to see Hilda, but there she was, a dashing sight in red velvet and parting the nobles as if surrounded by an invisible armed escort. A few of X'sana's gatherers made themselves immediately scarce, with the rest soon excusing themselves after finding themselves on the end of a flint-eyed stare and gunpowder grin.

In the pocket of space that formed around them, X'sana let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. _Truly_."

Hilda shrugged. In one hand she carried a bunch of grapes and occasionally popped one in her mouth. "I meant what I said. Only reason I'm here is to see that the watch's role in the melee is properly represented. And to make some high and mighty faces turn fun colors. But that's startin' to bore so I don't expect I'll stick around for supper, even though the kitchen does smell right heavenly." She twisted off a grape and offered it to X'sana.

Biting into the fruit, the tart juices filled her mouth with a burst of flavor. "Oh, I'm definitely here for the food."

"Should've come later if all you wanted was to eat and run. They gotta dance and talk themselves to starvation first, and then they'll dance and talk some more after."

X'sana grimaced, prompting Hilda to throw her head back and laugh. While she was at it, she tossed another grape and caught it in her open mouth.

"Well, if you get tired of that nonsense, me and the watch will be carousin' like normal folk down in the Brume. Your roguish friend will be there, too." With a sidelong glance and insinuating tone, she added, "I gotta thank him for helpin' me find this fancy getup. Pretty sure I'd have been turned away at the door otherwise, invitation or no. So, know anythin' that might tickle his fancy?"

X'sana felt both of her eyebrows rise. "Thancred? What happened to him being old?"

Hilda smirked. "I never said he was ugly, did I?"

"Fair point." Not that X'sana had room to talk about age differences in general or Thancred in particular. Back then, being flirted with had been quite novel. Educational, even, for an of-age, unclaimed female. X'zhul Nunh had been one of the few of the tribe who recognized her value, but not as a potential mate, and she'd never been worth any frisky Tia's or other female's time, the stigma of bad breeding following her even when breeding wasn't the point.

"Their loss," Thancred had said, flattering and flippant, as easy in his manner as he was on the eyes. As far as teachers went, she could have done a lot worse.

With a half-smile of remembrance, X'sana said, "As long as it's just for fun, I guarantee he'll be quite up for anything." And he could use a good distraction; his newfound habit of brooding worried her. "Enjoy yourself."

"Oh, I will." A grape suddenly pushed between X'sana's lips, followed by a press of Hilda's thumb as she fixed the smudged, glossy color that the aesthetician had so assiduously applied. The close-up crook of Hilda's smile and glint in her eye were decidedly wicked as she said, "Join us later if you want. But if you're lookin' for fun of the _noble_ and _commandin'_ variety, you'll find our favorite pretty-faced lord in blue schmoozin' it up on the dance floor. Have a pleasant evenin', X'sana."

With a wave and a toss of the stripped-clean grape stalk into a nearby potted plant, Hilda left as she had entered: given a wide berth by the guests and not giving a damn back in return.

X'sana covered her red cheeks, muttering, "It _must_ be an Ishgardian thing."

* * *

She did find him on the dance floor, out of his armor and resplendent in silver-trimmed midnight blue that enhanced his tall, svelte figure as he twirled a lovely Elezen lady to the swaying strings of the music. They made for an enchanting pair even among the other dancers, gliding smoothly from one perfect step to the next, the light of the chandelier overhead catching on the clasps and jewels adorning their ears. His lips moved as he spoke and she laughed in response.

X'sana recognized something in the way he smiled and it took her a moment to match it to their first meeting. The charm and pleasantry and masked intention all wrapped together, sincere in speech and so carefully worded to reveal only what he intended. It was effectively disarming even when you knew to be on guard.

She tapped a finger against her arm, head tilted, thinking back to their early interactions. Trying to pinpoint when he'd stopped using his artfully politic face with her. A memory surfaced of the first time she saw his expression lose its sculpted formality, though not because of her; it was when he'd introduced Estinien to them with no small amount of pride in his voice, and the ensuing look of familiarity exchanged between them had spoken of a comfortable acquaintance. Over time, it became apparent that Aymeric's warm regard, Estinien's gruff protectiveness, and the full faith they mirrored in each other was something special. Part of her was even a little bit jealous, which lent itself to the constant background guilt.

"Ah, X'sana, I see that Tataru managed to twist your arm into coming." Alphinaud appeared, wearing a paler, powdery shade of blue for a change, which added an ethereal quality to his already finely wrought features.

"There's no denying her, is there?" X'sana wondered if his outfit was also Tataru's work. If left to his own choice, Alphinaud seemed to prefer somber colors for added maturity.

"Indeed," he said with a tellingly wry smile. Stepping closer, he dropped his voice to a more private volume to add, "By my estimate, she made arrangements once the grand melee was announced. House Durendaire started planning for an event at the same time, though exactly what sort of event remained curiously vague until recently when certain parties received invitations at the last minute due to 'an error with the post.' The Moogle Delivery Service denied any error on their part at first, only to rescind their statement shortly after and admit fault, with apologies."

X'sana stared at him, first with unease at the highborn machinations, and then with something akin to nausea creeping up her throat. "Are you implying... corruption in the _postal service?_ " Horrified, she imagined having to question a poor postmoogle. If it refused to talk, what would she do? Smash its little pink nose? At least the Mogglesguard had been trained warriors, what kind of monster would rough up a civilian moogle just trying to get by? Memories of investigating the uprising in Ul'dah crashed into her, the sight of the arrow that flashed by to silence the merchant, except instead it was a moogle she saw falling, little white body pincushioned.

No. No, she couldn't do this. Find some other Warrior of Light to take this job, her plate was already full with vengeful dragons and social revolution, and she had enough moogle blood on her hands.

Alphinaud's eyes flew wide and he took her arm, gently shaking her out of her ghastly thoughts. "No—well, yes, but that's not what I—er, let's just say it was fortunate that the Holy See came out the victor of the melee. The traditionalists have quieted for time being, while support for Ser Aymeric has risen."

Slowly, X'sana nodded. The image of battered white bodies scattered across a battlefield began to fade and the colors and glittering lights of the ballroom came back into focus. "Yes... yes, I noticed that. Do you think it will last?"

Alphinaud relaxed. "I believe that depends on what Ser Aymeric does with this opportunity, although I have not had the chance to speak with him tonight. He appears to have been penciled in on many a lady's dance card. More than there are dances, judging by the argument that broke out earlier."

X'sana snorted. It figured that one couldn't even dance with the man without scheduling it in advance. She found her disappointment to be minimal; she was far too short for dancing to be anything but extremely awkward between them, a waste of his apparent talents. More disappointing was the prospect of having gone through all this effort and not even getting a chance to speak with him.

She squashed the recurring thought of, _If I asked..._ Aymeric was clearly using this time to work, and short of him putting his health at risk, she wasn't going to interfere with that. If anything, she ought to help. He would appreciate it. And later, when she could finally get him alone, she wouldn't be digging herself too much deeper.

This was not the correct way to be in a relationship, she knew. If this could even be called a relationship. It was a thing of the moment, of the brilliant, possible now, as a nation with a thousand years of bloody history could at last painstakingly chart a new course for itself, one that she would gladly usher in with him, together, and be the strength he needed to set things right. She could be the hero he needed. It sounded noble, but was much less than what he deserved.

A new song started up and Alphinaud muttered under his breath, "Well, when in Ishgard..." He cleared his throat and extended his hand to her with a courteous bow. "May I have this dance?"

When in Ishgard indeed. She accepted his hand, albeit with a warning. "I've never danced like this before."

"The waltz isn't difficult. Although I believe it was only recently integrated into Ishgardian society, having something of a, um, scandalous reputation for a while."

"Scandalous?" X'sana looked around at the elegant, formal rotations of the couples dancing nearby. Was it the bare arms and shoulders of the ladies? That was nothing compared to what dancers wore in Ul'dah, but Coerthas was _much_ colder.

"It's the constant touching," Alphinaud explained with a quirk of his mouth, placing a light hand on her back. It seemed an innocent enough touch to her and she let out a laugh while he shrugged, clasping their hands together.

He gave her a moment to study the steps of the people around them, and once they were fixed in her mind, she signalled that she was ready. A few turns were all she needed to get the hang of it. The rhythm of the music was pure simplicity to follow and she fell into its one-two-three cadence as naturally as breathing, letting the ebb and flow of the notes travel through each rise and dip, each leisurely spin around the room. It was a relaxed sort of exercise by her standards, and she still couldn't see what could be so shameful about it and chalked it up as more Ishgardian highborn nonsense.

At least, that was what she thought until they passed by Aymeric with another beautiful woman in his arms. X'sana stole a glance, a brief look to stave off the urge to stare at him outright, and by accident or design their gazes met for that single, scintillating instant. He still wore the charismatic smile for the public, but the melted-ice warmth in his eyes was for her alone. It was a very specific and wondrous sort of gaze that she'd only recently become acquainted with, and left her feeling cold and bereft when it was gone.

Now she was imagining it was Aymeric's hand supporting her back, long fingers resting over the laces of her bodice that she would so love to have loosened, the heat of his palm seeping through the layers of delicate fabric. His large hand cradling hers, reminding her how the mere slide of their fingers together could render her speechless. The closeness of their bodies as they turned with graceful, twining movements.

X'sana missed a step and nearly trod over Alphinaud's foot, red-faced with her distinctly scandalous thoughts.

* * *

A problem arose when the dance ended. Evidently, taking to the floor with Alphinaud inspired others to request a dance with her, starting with one of the youths she'd spoken to earlier. She accepted his hand, then felt compelled to accept the one after for fear of giving offense to whichever house he was from, and so X'sana found herself dancing successively with various young Elezen lords still in their teens or just barely into adulthood who didn't tower over her too badly.

They meant well, most of them, hero worship in their eyes and eager to learn more of the world beyond the Holy See's mighty walls, so X'sana resigned herself to the elegant trap of manners she'd waltzed into and entertained them one after another. Between dances, they would introduce her to their fathers or brothers, which was somewhat worthwhile because it gave her an idea of where the family stood in matters of tradition or reform. Brash younger sons were one thing; the actual heads of the house or those in line to inherit were much more reserved in their opinions. Some of them seemed open to the possibility of change, or at the very least displayed no outright hostility towards it. A wait-and-see approach was most prevalent. As Alphinaud had said, everything hinged on what happened next.

Then there were the few people who sought her out merely for an opportunity to give themselves airs. If it was nothing but tiresome peacocking, she endured it until the dance's end. X'sana thought she was doing a commendable job of not making her friends look bad, but all it took was one sneering comment of "that traitorous bastard" and then she was sinking a fist into a soft gut, spinning on her heel, and abandoning the doubled-over man on the dance floor.

Her tail lashed and her ears swung back and forth against her will, picking up the bits and pieces of gossip that followed her like a cloud. There she goes, the Warrior of Light, who was it that offended her so? How was the offense given? Would House Fortemps demand an apology on behalf of their ward? Or was it the other way around, could the other party have been the victim?

X'sana gritted her teeth. She'd been doing so well until now, playing the part and making nice with all the fancy lords and ladies, being the showpiece hero. If Estinien were here, he wouldn't spare her the mocking edge of his tongue. _What else did you expect, indulging every prancing twit that crossed your path? Someone was going to deserve a good beating sooner or later. Just as well for it to be that shite-talking arsehole._

She let out a dry laugh and leaned against the wall outside the ballroom where only a scattering of guests lingered and the servants were polite enough not to stare. It wasn't a very good illusion of privacy, but it was enough for her to close her eyes and press a hand over the scarred, aching part of her heart, and let herself feel the loss. She didn't want Estinien to be a bad-advice voice in her head; she wanted him to be here to anchor her to herself, wanted to rewind time to that moment and be an anchor for him, to rip the Eye from the sword and not let that godsdamned shade of a wyrm have him. She wanted to redo _so many_ things.

"X'sana."

_Oh... finally..._

She let out the breath she'd been holding. Something more loosened in her chest along with it, taking away the sharp, angry regret, leaving only the dull throb that matched her heartbeat. Her eyes opened and she took in the welcome sight of Aymeric's handsome face, his expression soft and concerned—anxious, even. She was reminded, suddenly, of the time he'd called upon her at the Fortemps manor. It hadn't been the first time he'd dropped pretenses in front of her, but it had been the first time _for_ her.

When she reached for him, he took her hand immediately, her fingers curling into his. She realized she was smiling only when the worry that gently creased his features relaxed.

X'sana spoke the first words that came to mind: "I hope you aren't here to ask me to dance because I have had _quite_ enough of that."

His lips twitched. If he wasn't so frustratingly tall she would've liked to brush her fingers over them. "Dancing with you has its dangers, I hear. Although the source of the rumor is not the most reputable. Regardless, know that I would happily take that risk."

Seeing him make light of it, the last of her reservations fled and she pushed away from the wall, closer to the inviting lean of his body. "Noted. Perhaps another time."

"Shall we get some fresh air then?"

Her immediate thought was, _are you mad, it's freezing outside_ , but on the other hand, it was guaranteed to be more private than this and her current priorities were very clear. "Lead the way, ser."

After a maid brought her cloak, X'sana followed Aymeric past the ballroom and up a grand flight of stairs. The number of other guests in the halls thinned to nothing by the time they reached a set of doors that opened to a balcony. As expected, the frigid Coerthan night greeted them, but the presence of aetheric heat lamps cast warm pools of light upon the stone of the floor.

X'sana took a seat on a bench under one of the lamps—or rather, that was what she intended to do, but the careless motion caused the boning of the hoop skirt to snag her tail and she jumped upright with a yowl.

"What's wrong?" Aymeric's eyes darted, searching for a threat. They were the only people on the balcony, but others could be heard below them where the ballroom doors opened to a patio.

"It's nothing," X'sana said, grabbing at the damned skirt and making a much more ginger attempt to sit. "Just this infernal torture device I've been strapped into."

"Ah, yes. The great and varied pains of ladies' fashion. To avoid that, Lucia has a suit of decorative armor solely for formal occasions."

"I'll have to ask her where I can get my own."

The lamps were appreciated, but the warmth of Aymeric pressed close to her on the small bench was far better. Taking her hand in his, his thumb made slow, circling motions on the inside of her wrist. _Scandalous touching_ , X'sana thought with a muffled guffaw, although she couldn't deny that the idle (or purposeful?) contact made her very aware of his skin on hers.

"For what it's worth," he said above her, breath faintly tickling the tip of her ear, "you do look stunning tonight."

"Don't get used to it."

Aymeric laughed, the vibration of it traveling between the press of their bodies. "I could never. I am in constant awe of you and you surprise me at every turn. Your dancing, for example. That the steps should come easy might be expected of a well-versed warrior, but your grace and embodiment of the music speaks more of artistry than combat skill. Small wonder you had partners lining up."

"Oh. I mean, you're one to talk, you had people fighting over you." Flushing, she looked down at where sparse flurries of snow were beginning to swirl across the floor beyond the heat of the lamp. "...My mother used to be a dancer in Ul'dah where she met my father, but he died before I was born. So she returned to the tribe to raise me. I learned how to dance before I learned how to hunt or fight." There was a reason X'hera Quon had to leave the city and go back to the tribe she'd estranged herself from in the first place, but X'sana had never found the courage to ask what it was. In everyone's eyes, including hers, her mother was willful and unbowed and apart from the rest. Whatever could have caused her to retreat was rarely speculated about within earshot of mother or daughter. X'sana had gone to Ul'dah with a vague intention to investigate, but then a young Lalafellin noblewoman had gone missing, and the rest was history.

The little caresses flirting with her hand grew bolder, the tips of Aymeric's fingers stroking up the lines of her palm and pushing, insistent and inevitable, between the joining of her fingers to grasp her hand firmly. X'sana sucked in a breath, then let it out shakily when his smooth, cultured voice dipped low next to her ear. "I do recall catching a glimpse of the famed dancers of Ul'dah when we were there for the banquet."

"Did you now?" The shiver that passed through her had little to do with the cold. "And did they shock any notions of conservative Ishgardian decency?"

"Some," he admitted, tucking their joined hands close to the wonderful heat of his body, and all X'sana wanted in that moment was to burrow close and be entirely wrapped in him. "I'd say I'm more... intrigued, at present."

She smiled and nuzzled her cheek against his arm. "I ought to practice my moves then." However, the distant stirring of music could be heard from the ballroom below, providing an unhappy reminder that pulled a misty sigh from her lips. "I suppose I must first return you to your adoring masses."

"No need." Fingers under her chin tipped her face up to meet his smiling blue eyes. "Unless you mean to return to _your_ fans, I'd sooner quit this place for somewhere more comfortable."

X'sana hesitated, uncertainty balling up in her stomach. Was it asking too much when he offered first? "Are you sure you can leave in the middle? Don't you have to still...?"

He gave a shake of his head. "I've accomplished all that I need to and have no other engagements. I rarely stay for the entire night, and my departure around this time is usually expected. So, shall we?"

She could tell without asking that his reason for leaving early was because he would usually work the next morning, same as always. No dancing and politicking all night for the Lord Commander when he had an order to run. He probably felt that delegating for an evening was already the limit. But this once, he ought to have a night off and then a lie-in tomorrow. And he was the one offering.

She needed no further convincing. The ball of uncertainty flew apart and X'sana let him assist her to her feet, whereupon she used the bench as a step and tugged him near to finally, _finally_ reach his beautiful face, arms around his neck and mouth seeking his.

Aymeric kissed her back with a gratifying hunger, no conservatism to be found in the hot, open press of his lips and the way he gripped her around the waist, pulling her flush against the long, lean lines of his body. "Halone have mercy," he confessed between warm puffs of breath and the eager slide of his mouth, "I wasn't sure if you'd be in attendance tonight, but I'd hoped. And then I saw you dancing so magnificently and all I could think about was how much I wanted to have you to myself."

"Good," X'sana said, nearly purring, "because the only reason I'm here is for _you_." He shuddered against her and the power she had over a man like him left her breathless with wonder.

"We should be discreet," Aymeric said, although the way he kissed her continued to be anything but. "'Tis one thing to stay the night with a convalescing friend under assumed medical supervision, and something else entirely for a young, unmarried woman to accompany a man to his home without an escort at this hour."

"Right. We mustn't offend any delicate highborn sensibilities. No more than I already have at least."

He laughed softly, half-lidded gaze overflowing with fondness. "Believe it or not, you could lay out a dozen men on the ballroom floor based on a whisper of offense and it wouldn't harm your reputation in the slightest. For better or worse, we are a nation that has always valued honor and martial strength."

"As well as chastity."

"The appearance of it, at any rate."

He was living proof of that, wasn't he? X'sana bumped her forehead against his and dragged her fingers through the tousled ink of his hair. "So let me make sure I understand. We'll leave here separately. Then I'll go to you under cover of darkness and... sneak in through your window, perhaps?"

"I—yes, I suppose that is what I am suggesting." His smile turned rueful, as if entertaining a private joke.

"I can do that. Although isn't it usually the gentleman who sneaks into the lady's bedchambers for a midnight rendezvous?"

He lifted a brow, slightly challenging. "I could, if you'd prefer. I just don't know how we'll be able to look the count in the eye afterwards."

Ah. Yes. Count Edmont was something of a father figure to them both, and sneaking behind his back like a pair of adolescent youths was... a bit... "Ahem. Your place it is. Leave the window unlocked for me—wait, wait!" Dissolving into giggles, she tugged him back when he started to pull away. "You can't go back in like this," she said, and attempted to wipe the prominent smear of her lip paint from his mouth.

* * *

The cold light of the stars and the lone silver moon were her only witnesses as X'sana passed through the streets unseen. Stray flakes of snow dusted around her feet, but there wasn't enough of it sticking to the ground to leave telltale footprints. The only people who were out on a night as cold as this were the occasional patrolling Temple Knight and various House Knights keeping watch at gates and doors, and X'sana had to wonder what the latter's protocol was if they happened to see a supposed thief sneaking in through a neighbor's window. Would honor compel them to raise the alarum, or would house rivalry turn their eyes away? Would they guess that the thief was actually a paramour seeking a little tête-à-tête in the middle of the night?

Just as well that she knew how to keep herself hidden. It was a useful skill, and not only for illicit activities; sometimes it was simply nice to be invisible. To not have to worry about being recognized. To not be the Warrior of Light for a while, and just be herself, on her way to a warm bed and warmer company.

She found the house, its windows dark save for one. Climbing up to it was a simple, if freezing task, fingers digging into the rough surface of bitterly cold stone, and not for the first time X'sana thought that she had better improve her lancework so she could find someone to teach her the ways of the dragoon. Estinien had been a tremendous help while they trekked through Dravania, his blunt advice and availability as a practice partner doing much to hone her basic skills. He'd given the excuse that the lance was the ideal weapon against dragons and they were to soon begin their ascent of Sohm Al, but X'sana suspected there had been more to it than that. For want of a rival, perhaps. Or merely a like friend.

Ysayle had once commented after watching them exchange a set of blows, "'Tis a lonely dragon that soars the firmament without a companion. I suppose the same can be true for irascible dragoons." She'd said it with a rare, subtle smile, the look of it only becoming more mysterious as Estinien responded predictably and she, for once, saw no reason to argue with him. After he'd stalked away from them with the air of an offended cat, she'd even huffed a quiet, amused laugh.

X'sana would have liked to hear more of that laugh. A great deal more of it. Aching now with cold and from within and without, she flexed her fingers and began to work the window open. As soon as she had the glass parted enough to slip through, Aymeric was helping her the rest of the way inside, gathering her in his arms to fend off the chill. "Apologies for asking you to do this," he said, pulling the shutters and glass closed. "One of these days I'll manage to court you properly."

She sighed into his comforting warmth, clutching at the back of his shirt and breathing in the scent of him; strong black tea with a hint of sweet, and the lingering perfumed notes of the ball. "What, the fancy party wasn't romantic enough to count?"

"The fancy party you were loath to attend, in a dress fit for torture, entertaining people you could barely tolerate?" He guided her backwards until her legs bumped the side of the bed and he lifted her to perch on the edge. The duvet was plush and soft under her, and her feet dangled slightly above the floor.

"Well, when you put it like that..." She didn't have to crane her neck up for long; Aymeric sank to his knees before her, cupped her wind-chilled face in his hands, and feathered a light kiss over her brow.

"There may come a time when I'll request the Warrior of Light's presence at such an event," he said, apologetic but steadfast. Considerate, but dutiful. His thumbs brushed her recently scrubbed cheeks, lips trailing the slope of her nose. "But for romancing you, my dear, a more intimate setting would better suit."

The endearment rolling off his honeyed tongue pulled her taut and made her quiver. " _Intimate_ ," she repeated, eyelids drifting to a languid half-mast. "Such as this right now?"

His mouth hovered over hers, tantalizingly close. The smallest of movements would bridge the gap, but instead she waited, wanting and anticipating. He handled her so gently and preciously, and then he would insist, and it was the loveliest feeling to just give in.

"I would not keep you a shameful secret behind closed doors," he told her in a low murmur, and there was conviction in his words that went beyond her. A reminder that she was not his only or foremost love, that he would ever belong to proud, jealous, wounded Ishgard, who needed him far more than X'sana did. She tried not to examine her feelings about that, messy and uncertain when all she wanted was simple and true. "But for right now," Aymeric said with a slow-burning heat that was for her and her alone, "I do believe this will suffice."

The little shudder of her breath turned into a long, full-body tremble as his hands slid down her neck to the swell of her chest, loosening the fastenings of her coat one at a time, pushing it open and down her shoulders. Her arms became trapped in the sleeves, but X'sana didn't particularly mind when he held her in place to tease her with soft, fleeting kisses. Didn't mind at all when she tipped her face for more contact and exquisite longing suffused every ilm of her when she was denied.

Something showed on her face, or in her reaction, because Aymeric's considering pause and the way he studied her was unmistakable. And that was a pleasure in itself, being the subject of his concentrated attention. X'sana felt herself flush and shifted her hips, fingers curling against the top of the duvet, made to wait as he slowly stroked down her arms to cover her hands with his and lean close, dropping a quiet command into her shyly bent ear, "Don't move your hands from here unless I say you may."

Then he let go and she was burning, blood pounding hot through her veins and rushing in her ears, thinking _oh_ and _yes_ and _great merciful gods_.

His fingers traced paths down her thighs, slightly tickling behind her knees and along the curves of her calves. One boot came off, followed by the other. Her thick wool socks were discarded, revealing her bare feet that had kicked in many a face and walked countless malms across the length and breadth of Eorzea. Powerful and well-traveled, they looked downright dainty now with one of her heels cradled in Aymeric's palm, his knuckles dragging up along the arch. He pressed into the ball of her foot below the toes, gentle at first. Then more firmly. His thumb rubbed small circles in the hollow below her ankle bone and that shouldn't have felt nearly as good as it did, sending a tingle up X'sana leg, making her swallow a small, embarrassed sound.

Aymeric's knowing look made her tense and flutter at the apex of her thighs. Made her think about hooking a leg around him and drawing him close, which was technically allowed. But she only thought about it, wanted it, and the more she wanted him to touch her, the more acutely she felt his attention.

While he worked on the other foot, gradually melting her hot under her layers, she couldn't help but wonder aloud, "Where in the heavens did our esteemed Lord Commander learn something like this?"

He hummed thoughtfully, which only stoked her curiosity more. "Would you believe me if I cited medical reasons?"

Something in his deceptively light tone, or perhaps the enigmatic cast of his eyes, suggested otherwise. Then his fingers stroked up her calf muscle, and up the inside of her thigh, flirting close enough to make her squirm and widen her legs. "I believe I know a feint when I see one, ser."

"And yet you leave yourself so temptingly open, one can hardly be blamed for taking advantage." But he did not take as much advantage as she would have let him, his touch traveling up her hips and sides instead, skimming just barely against the curves of her breasts. "Arms up," he permitted, divesting her of her coat first and then helping her out of her shirt. When her chest came free of its band he drank in the sight, gaze lingering appreciatively on the way her nipples stiffened for him, rising and falling with the excited drag of her breath, her bare skin begging for more—but that was the extent of his indulgence. X'sana's whine of disappointment cut short when his fingers dipped into the waistband of her trousers and pulled them down along with her smalls.

With not a stitch left on her, she thought he might finally touch her properly. She thought that surely, she wouldn't have to wait anymore.

His hand palmed the side of her face and brought her mouth to his, but only for an agonizingly brief taste, and then Aymeric was standing, petting the top of her head between the ears that made her try to nudge up into his hand. Or towards the outline of his hardness pushing at the front of his pants. He pressed her down gently, firmly, leaning over her to say in that hypnotizing, toe-curling voice, "Turn around and lie down for me."

X'sana whimpered. Shivered and ached sorely for more. And then she did as she was told, sliding flat on her belly with tail tip twitching and head pillowed on her arms, _waiting_ still, until her ears caught the sounds of him moving. Soft fabric slid off skin and she turned her face to watch, unabashed, sighing deeply at the expanse of his bare figure tinged golden from the firelight of the hearth. He was all slender, defined lines wrapped in lean muscle, with some scars she knew the stories of and many more she did not. His poised shoulders narrowed to a trim waist. The sight of his cock arcing from his body made her throb between her legs.

When he joined her on the bed, it was with a bottle of oil that he tipped into his palm, scentless, and X'sana closed her eyes to bemoan plaintively, "You mean to tease me to death, don't you?"

"La petite mort," he said, pleasantly articulate with a note of laughter underneath. "Yes, that is certainly my intention." The oiled tips of his fingers began to trace the outline of her shoulder blades. They met in the middle and trailed down her spine, into the dip of her back, and back up with a sweep of his thumbs on either side of the vertebrae. He brushed aside her hair and settled his hands over the curve of shoulders, pressing in lightly. "Know, of course, that should you desire anything—anything else at all—I am happy to oblige."

_Noblesse oblige_ , she thought to herself. Her heart chimed in, lilting, _A knight lives to serve._ Burying her face in her arms, X'sana exhaled and let herself surrender to the gentle, reassuring pressure of Aymeric's touch. It was easy to put herself in his hands. Too easy, sometimes, but that was a worry for later. "All I want right now is you," she said, yielding under the steady knead of his hands on her neck, her shoulders, the smooth glide of his palms down the slope of her back. "So do with me as you will."

He bent low over her and pressed his mouth to her nape, teeth scraping, and that mindful edge of want under his patient restraint told her that she would receive everything and more. Then his fingers narrowed in at the base of her spine. They found the spot just above her tail with the confidence of someone who knew what he was doing, and her hips surged up accordingly, embarrassingly, seeking more of that particular, intentioned caress.

"How—?" She choked off as he rubbed circles over the bundle of nerves and X'sana did not believe for one second that he could have possibly practiced this on another Miqo'te before. They weren't exactly common in the Holy See. Her fingers clutched at the thick duvet rumpling underneath her, and though she clenched her teeth and pressed her lips together, a rumbling, purring moan was dragged out into the open, beast-like and not helped by the instinct to raise her ass in the air.

Mercifully, he eased off before she could further mortify herself. X'sana sagged in relief.

Aymeric lightly cleared his throat and let his hand stroke in a much more benign manner down the length of her tail. "I might have done some research."

"Research?" she echoed, dazed and pliant as he adjusted the splay of her legs, tugging her hips down flat again. Gods, he must have an excellent view of how wet that had made her. The dampness cooled on her skin when exposed to the air. Her head starting to clear, X'sana belatedly processed his words. "Wait, you're saying you _researched_ how to bed a Miqo'te?" She propped herself up on arms that still shook slightly and twisted around to look at him, both eyebrows raised. "Pray tell me more."

He colored slightly, to her manifold delight. "It was nothing so specific," Aymeric demurred, modesty at odds with the way his hands covered and squeezed the round flesh of her backside. "I sought whatever information was available ere we met, and some of it turned out to be of questionable nature. Sources were limited, you understand."

She snickered at the thought of that particular report crossing the Lord Commander's desk. "I can imagine. 'Cats in heat' are quite a popular theme in bawdy verses and certain... clandestine manuscripts."

He didn't deny reading them, and oh, how she wished to have seen his face. "It took some very discreet doing, and a certain outpost commander's help, but I did eventually discern fact from fiction."

The reminder pulled at her, and perhaps it always would, but it no longer crested over her like a salt-bearing wave upon flayed-open skin. He would prefer to be remembered like this, she mused, ever the intrepid friend and putting his unashamed passions to good use. "I hope you weren't disappointed to find that we don't actually go into heat," she said archly. Not for millennia at least. There were always stories and gossip, though, even among her own kind. So-and-so's aunt's cousin's friend of a different tribe being a throwback.

Aymeric smoothed his hands over her hips and dimpled her cheeks with his thumbs. Then, starting below the base of her tail, he dipped his fingers between and sank them down, making her suck in a breath at the gliding pressure along her cleft. "Are you certain about that, little cat?" he asked, velvet-voiced, fingertips rubbing over her pucker with an intriguing, circular press before sliding lower to tease the outer lips of her undeniably eager pussy.

X'sana whined high in her throat, spreading and wriggling until he restrained her with a hand on her thigh and ordered, "Don't move."

She went still save for her ragged breathing, distantly aware that it would be easy to say _enough_ and pull him to her, or roll on top of him, and he would enthusiastically welcome it. She often enjoyed a more straightforward fuck. But this—the waiting, the wanting, and especially the back and forth of wanting to be good for him and wanting him to spoil her—it made her ache so blissfully and her worries seemed so far away, all she had to do was let him take care of her.

She didn't need him as much as Ishgard did. But she might need this.

He reapplied the oil and spread his hands down along her thigh, through the dampness clinging to her skin and pulling on her muscle with long, steady strokes. All else aside, he was good at this, plying her loose and relaxed with practiced motions. Just _whom_ he'd practiced with, X'sana dearly wanted to know. She could think of one person, although not in so soft a context, whose hand had been similarly firm and effective in massaging tension out of her pained shoulder. That excuse of 'medical reasons' might have been half right, but no more.

Secretively, she'd thought about it once or twice before, given their closeness. And shared attractiveness, shallow reason though it was. How would it work, she wondered, with one so patient and the other so overwhelming? Did one let go first, or did the other submit to restraint? It took effort not to shift in place at the thought.

Then Aymeric returned his attention to the uppermost point of her legs and she had to control herself for a more pressing reason. He slid his fingers into the crease where her buttocks met her thighs, delving inwards and pulling her legs slightly apart. The length of his forefinger dragged wetly up her slit and she stifled the plea that tried to squirm past her lips.

"No need to hold back your voice." He rubbed over her folds and the contact was almost too much of a shock after being made to wait for so long. "Unless you want me to drag the words I want to hear out of you."

Oh, now she felt _challenged_. X'sana could never turn that down. Her chest heaved while he took his time stroking her up and down, drawing circular motions, and spreading her to the side. Between the oil and her own slick, she was the slipperiest she'd ever been in her life. Each wonderful sweep of his fingers was a smooth, easy glide, and she shook just imagining him sliding into her with the same ease.

He let her get away with the helpless trembling. Come to think of it, she had no idea what he might do if she disobeyed, how much more he might sweetly torment her. But before considering further, he pushed a finger into her and she let out a single heated vowel of sound, thighs tensing and releasing. The shallow in and out was still a tease, pumping a few times before leaving, sneaking downward to roll over her clit and then drifting away to stroke and squeeze her thigh.

X'sana bit her lip and clung to her wordless resistance. It was futile, of course, she knew how to pick her battles and in the end she would happily give this one up. It just wouldn't do for her to surrender so soon. She had her pride, even like this. Even if he was going to make her cry at this rate.

As soon as her breathing started to slow, his hand returned to her pussy, massaging over it and thrusting two fingers into her. This time he reached deep. This time he stroked inside her at his leisure, pressing against her walls. His thumb dragged back and forth over her puckered hole, making her twitch, unused to that particular sensation but melting under it the same way she succumbed to everything he did to her, every meaningful glance and courtly gesture, from lightest kiss to silk-clad command.

It was only half-intentional when she hitched her hips and pushed back on his hand, a thought and a curiosity and a low curl of prurient desire. The other half was unthinking, unrestrained need. He withdrew from her immediately, an inevitable consequence, but she still let out a despairing string of unintelligible noises and shook her head, pressing her face into the covers, her ears dropping flat.

Emptiness and a waiting silence was what she got for disobedience. The latter was worse and she felt entirely seen through to be denied even the simple chastisement of his voice. Disappointment, displeasure, amusement—anything would have been fine as long as it came from that captivating mouth. Her face burned as she hid from him but anxiety began to flutter in her stomach, and she turned to the side just enough to whimper, contrite, "Aymeric..."

He placed a hand on her hip and her body thrilled at the acknowledgement, but it wasn't going to be that easy. X'sana was unprepared when he rolled her on her back and she was confronted with the gorgeous sight of him, the dark hair curling over his brow and the ice blue of his eyes, the flowing, graceful lines and carved angles of his figure...

...The depth of devotion in his expression that said he was at her service, always, as he traced her mouth with a finger. "Speak whatever it is you desire and it shall be yours."

Something wild sprouted from the messy tangle of her heart, singular and brave and oh so foolish, the way a bud might push up from the ground on an unseasonably warm day only to perish in the continued grasp of winter. A beautiful promise of blooming that was not meant to be, but that did not mean it was a waste. It was never a waste. She had to believe that, each time it happened, or else she might tear up all her roots and throw their twining, undiscovered possibilities away, and ensure that the path she walked remained barren forever.

X'sana didn't want that. Even if it hurt, even if this possibility was fated to wither, it existed for now.

"Please," she said, lips moving under the coaxing touch of his finger. His _wet_ finger, and she shuddered, tongue flickering to taste herself on his skin. "Please kiss me, oh please..."

He replaced his finger with his mouth, soft at the first press, and then surprising her with a hard, searingly hot kiss that seemed to evaporate the air from her lungs. She gasped against him. Reached for him. Tilted her head for him to taste the column of her throat, panting as he marked her with far more teeth and greed than she'd thought he would allow himself, and she relished the indulgence with a drag of her nails against the back of his head, down the nape of his neck. He pushed her more firmly into the bed, his weight pinning her between the downy covers and the solid muscle of his body.

"Please..."

"Please what?" He licked across the tender, bruised spot on her neck.

X'sana arched up into him and found dizzying delight in how unyielding he was; she would have to exert real effort if she wanted to flip them over. "Please... touch me."

_Hold me. Have me. Stay with me._

Some things were too unfair to ask and she'd sworn to herself to take only what she could give.

The heat of Aymeric's breath unfurled over her collarbones, his words tingling on her skin with each press of his open, avid mouth. "Touch you where?" He brought his hand to her breast, covering and kneading it. Briefly sucked a pert nipple into the damp of his mouth before releasing it with a wet pop. "Here?"

Twelve, she always felt dwarfed in an Elezen's hands, the full tits she secured and compressed under armor every day just barely counting as a decent handful. " _Ah!_ " She jolted when he lightly pinched and tugged on a sensitive point. "Ye—no, no..." Her head thrashed from side to side, nails digging crescents into his shoulders. "No, inside, inside me."

His hand went to the top of her head, stroking her hair between her ears until she stilled, breathing heavily and then parting her lips for him when he sought them. "Tell me," he said with a push and taste of his tongue in her mouth, slick and hot and insinuating, " _exactly_ how you want me inside you."

"I... I want..." X'sana swallowed, fumbling for the words. Asking for things never came easy for her. Wanting what she couldn't have was one of the first truths she'd learned about the world. Aymeric took her chin in his fingers to make her look at him, reminding her of everything he had to offer; he had so much to give, whether it was his steadfast, at times stubbornly enduring body, or his painfully loyal heart, and he pledged them to more than just her and that made him wonderful as well as impossible for her to keep. "I want..." She licked her lips and reached for what she _could_ have in halting, clumsy, crude words. "I want your cock in me." His grip on her tightened and the loud, pounding heartbeat that seemed to fill the room could have belonged to either of them. She continued, nearly sobbing, "I want to be fucked on your cock, I want to come with you deep inside me. I want you. Please."

He rewarded her with a fierce, hungry kiss, and a heated murmur of, "Good girl."

There were things she loved about the size difference; she loved how effortlessly he lifted her and arranged her kneeling over his lap, loved the depths he could reach inside her with his fingers as he opened her up, and right now she _craved_ the hot, hard length of him that brushed the inside of her leg. Reaching down, she rolled her palm over the flushed head, spreading the wetness that seeped from him.

Sitting like this, with all that extra leg length out of the equation, also made it easy to reach the sensuous push and pull of his mouth. Though she still had to be slightly up on her knees for the angle to be comfortable.

Bloody tall Elezens and their long, beautiful everything. X'sana leaned up a bit more to put her lips to the tapered shape of his ear and the noise he made went straight to her core.

Aymeric withdrew his fingers from her with a promptness bordering on impatience. It was keenly gratifying, downright heady, to nudge him towards haste, knowing that the whole time he'd made her wait he'd also been holding back. The careful way he touched her, spreading her slick folds and holding her open to tease his cockhead against her entrance, was betrayed by the hoarseness of his voice when he told her, "Sit."

X'sana couldn't tell if it was obedience or just the rush of arousal turning her legs to water that made her drop down, taking in the tip of him and then some all at once. She made a sound that she vaguely hoped wasn't too embarrassing, mouth open and throat working, the rest of her attention spiralling down to the thick, hot press between her legs.

Bloody _proportionate_ Elezens. Her pussy wasn't made for what she kept asking it to take. Truthfully, this wasn't something she imagined wanting often, not when it was this much every time, but she wanted it _now_ and so she widened her legs and willed her muscles to relax. Aymeric supported her as she sank down a bit more, letting her go at her own pace. It felt like it took ages, an astral era measured in the slow slide of filling herself with his whole cock until seated, knees spread and her arms flung around his shoulders, face pressed to his neck.

She let out a deep, deflating sigh, leaning on him and barely aware of anything except the penetrating fullness and a distant sense of accomplishment to go with it. Her ears flicked when he stroked her hair and the satisfaction burned a little brighter when he praised her, "Very good, little cat."

If anyone else said something like that to her, they'd get a taste of her knuckles. For Aymeric, she answered with a throaty, vibrating purr, shifting experimentally in his lap. She was impaled on him so completely it was difficult to tell where she ended and he began.

The position was more intimate than she was used to, holding each other like this, close enough that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathed and even the slight catch and stutter when she squeezed around him. She decided that she liked the closeness. Liked being wrapped up in him as if she belonged here. X'sana trailed her lips up his neck, licking at the light sheen of sweat on his skin, struggling to lift herself by just a few ilms to kiss her way to his chin and pull his face down to nip at his mouth.

He endured the awkward angle and ran his tongue over her parted, pliable lips, slipping between them with a soft thrust and curl while his fingers melted a path down her spine, stopping at the curve of her back. His palm settled hot against her and she flexed under the touch, a wordless, begging motion that wanted him to stroke just a bit further.

"Down," he said first, and the compliant sink of her hips pushed a low groan from him as he was once more fully buried inside her. She thought about doing it again, but then he was tugging her flush against him and the delicious grind on her clit became paramount. "That's it," Aymeric encouraged her in breathy, barely restrained tones, drawing her leg up to bend around his waist. She obligingly hooked her ankles behind his back. "Just like that, good girl. You feel so good, sitting so tight and pretty on me. You've been so patient. Take what you want."

The stroke of his hand over the sensitive spot by her tail had her arching dramatically, desperate for more pressure, and with permission she leaned back to brace her arms on the bed and rock herself between the press of his hand and the column of him between her thighs. She fucked herself on his cock with a roll of her hips as he watched, heated gaze traveling from her slack, open mouth to her bouncing breasts, and down to the persistent bulge of him showing through her lower belly.

"By the Fury, you are incredible." He trailed a hand over the slight stretch where her flat abdomen pushed up, feeling himself underneath, sending a tremor throughout X'sana body as she took in the sight and sensation of being so unbelievably, visibly full. And she couldn't get enough of it, thrusting herself against him in a needy rhythm for more. Her head tipped back, breath coming in short gasps, a shock of levin sparking through her system when he said, "Come for me, darling."

His potent voice and the deep push of his cock inside her would have been enough to send her over the edge. The circling rub at the base of her tail just got her there faster, legs locking around him and inner muscles clenching, coming so long and hard she saw white.

X'sana only realized she'd been spilling out a litany of one-syllable noises when she stopped, breathless, arms wobbling and threatening to give out. Aymeric reeled her limp body towards him where she sagged gratefully, her insides still pulsing in weak, slowing flutters and her limbs feeling like jelly.

His lips touched her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Light fingers petted over her ears. She wanted to rub and nuzzle his face but didn't have the strength or coordination to lift herself, and oh, he was still incredibly hard and deep inside her. Another frisson of pleasure trembled through her loose, wrung-out body.

"Aymeric..." She moaned, graceless and fumbling as she clung to him, trying to work her hips but needing help. "Keep... keep going..."

The breath he released was hot against her ear. His hands became less gentle, grasping her to him and grinding their bodies together, holding her in place to flex and roll into the cradle of her heat. The close, constant friction rubbed over her clit and what tenuous coherence remained to her was washed away with each rocking wave. She could only hold onto the lifeline of him and let herself get carried away in the motions, riding them out, riding his cock until he shuddered and pulled her against him tightly and fiercely, the closest to possessive he'd ever gotten, and she forgot herself enough to cry out, "Hold onto me, please...!"

He squeezed the air and words out of her while she milked the orgasm from him, both of them shaking and running themselves empty. It was an exhilarating, devastating ruin, shared between them.

X'sana slumped over, doubly tired and thoroughly wrecked. She was a mess inside—in more sense than one, the physical making itself obvious when Aymeric reclined with her in his arms and pulled her wetly off his softening cock. Ignoring the aftermath that trailed over his stomach, he rubbed between her shoulders with slow, broad strokes that helped put her back together. His other hand found hers and she reflexively curled her fingers in a flimsy grip that eased some of the disaster of her furiously pounding heart.

Then he brought her hand to his mouth, lips moving against her fingers, his smooth voice sounding frayed at the edges.

"Je suis à vous."

She collapsed inward. Came completely undone in an instant. Buried her face in his neck and said nothing because all she had were the pieces of herself he'd shaken apart and what remained was the sharp, sweet ache underneath. It was impossible to put into words. It was the Echo taking the lovely syllables shaped by his talented tongue and rendering them in purest, inescapable truth that touched her very soul.

_I am yours._

X'sana also knew, with a certainty born in her wanderlust bones and untethered heart, that she would not, could not, keep him. That this affair, this once-in-a-lifetime romance, was temporary. It would not last, but those words of his were lasting. Both were true.

* * *

Goodbyes were not typically pleasant occasions in Aymeric's experience. Among knights, especially. Raised in a harsh land, with a harsher history, goodbyes were often the violent and permanent sort. They were inevitable, traditionally even pursued, and such an intrinsic part of Ishgardian life that one learned to leave no business unfinished, no words left unsaid, always prepared for this day, this moment, to be the last.

Even a temporary goodbye tended to be curt—or nonexistent in a certain dragoon's case. He'd always been that way. Coming and going without a word, a presence that was heavily, aggressively armored whether he was wearing the drachen mail or not, difficult to get close to and impossible to hold. He would hang about nearby, though, and that had been the most frustrating part. Unable to commit but stubbornly attached.

Much of Estinien had changed since being pulled from the armor, releasing him from the jaws of bloody vengeance that he'd once willingly, savagely worn and snarled with long before Nidhogg used him to do the same—but the part that preferred to vanish overnight remained quite intact. Aymeric should have expected it, but somehow the abruptness still stung even after all this time. As for the surly, continued refusal to take a chance on what he clearly desired... well, that was less Aymeric's business now, but watching from the sidelines was just as frustrating as being involved had been. For her part, X'sana was blessedly unaware of her own involvement, which was probably for the best when she had far more important matters to deal with.

Goodbyes from X'sana were different. She said them with the intention of returning, went out of her way to find people just to tell them where she was going, and left little doubt that they would meet again. It was less of a farewell and more of a promise.

Haurchefant had lauded her as hope incarnate to anyone and everyone halfway willing to listen, and Aymeric had believed him based on the tales of her deeds alone. The Warrior of Light was nothing if not the embodiment of courage and hope and overcoming the impossible—and then, true to form, the Warrior of Light had given them all a future that he'd once only dreamed of. A dream that he had cleaved to and believed in for years, his own personal scripture, dangerous and duplicitous practice though it was in the Holy See. For ushering that dream into reality, and at no small personal cost, Aymeric would ever strive to repay her.

But more than that, beneath the heroics and the titles and the Blessing of Light, was a friend who lifted his heart to the highest places, whose name was one of the most precious sounds to grace his ears or leave his lips, whose absences were marked by anticipation and longing rather than sorrow. Hope was the better, brighter future on the horizon, and it was also the mere possibility of seeing her again that burned persistently in his chest.

That glowing ember of hope flickered into a small, steady flame when Lucia entered his office to inform him, "Lord Commander, X'sana is here to see you." And because it was just the two of them, she mildly added, "Do remember that the Lords and Commons will be convening soon at ten o'clock."

Aymeric responded with a wry, acknowledging smile, "Yes, of course. I shan't forget." It had only happened once; he'd arranged to take his brief lunch break with X'sana partly for the simple pleasure of her company and also with the ulterior motive of learning what her favorite foods were, and had lost track of time listening to her describe the vast array of cuisine she'd sampled along her travels. From the spiced fare and fine wines of an Ul'dahn royal banquet to whatever could be caught or foraged in the wild that _probably_ wasn't poisonous when tossed over a fire, she had a wide-ranging palate that leaned towards a savory, carnivorous preference. The price for this discovery was being fifteen minutes late to an appointment with the new commander of the Knights Dragoon, but it had been worth it. If nothing else, Aymeric could say that he had treated her to the perfect dinner, regardless of how it ended.

Regardless of how the entire dream-like courtship ended, as it was destined to do. Imminently, perhaps. Society would need to find a new favorite topic to speculate over and print reams of tawdry articles about. When Aymeric had proposed relaxing the censorship laws to encourage freedom of expression for their bright new future, he had not fully considered the impacts beyond the political or religious, and as a result, some of the publications concerning his personal life had become borderline torrid.

They were evidently well-received by certain audiences, though, and support for reform grew, drowning out the staid voices of those who would cling to the status quo. The things Aymeric endured for the sake of progress.

Lucia withdrew, exhibiting her typical aplomb and allowing for a small, privately amused smile that rippled across her otherwise unflappable expression. In her place stepped X'sana, the same travel-ready, whole-world-to-see adventurer as always, cheeks flushed rosy from the cold outside and cat's eyes gleaming when they caught the light. Aymeric was certain beyond a doubt that the sight of her would always kindle something warm and constant in his heart.

"Welcome," he said, and try as he might he could not repress the affection in his tone no matter what dutiful words came to his lips. "It's been some days since the council. With Baelsar's Wall now secured, I gather that the Scions of the Seventh Dawn will soon be venturing into Gyr Abania as discussed?"

"We've formally accepted the general's request," she confirmed. So this was one of her promised goodbyes after all. Bittersweet, but entirely expected, and the expectation of her safe return was the gift she'd come to deliver to him. It was the only tether that she would permit—and also, perhaps, something that she needed, because even a wild falcon that would never be trained to a glove needed a safe place to land once in a while.

Aymeric had dedicated much thought lately to what he could do to put her at ease when this moment came. "Excellent. Then before you depart, I have something for you."

"Again?" X'sana tilted her head in curiosity and his gaze dropped to her wrist where half of Estinien's sceau de chevalier had been added to her collection. The pieces had been left behind very conspicuously, an offering with just enough ambiguity that Estinien could feasibly claim it was unintentional, or left up to fate. Or, given how well they knew each other, he'd simply trusted that Aymeric would meddle and deliver them to the intended recipient.

She'd accepted the one half. The other half, at her insistence, rested under Aymeric's armor alongside his own sceau. Not for the first time, he wondered what she knew or suspected about his past history and persevering fondness for their mutual friend. It was a strangely triangular situation between them, and thank the Fury that the press had not caught wind of any such entanglement. Aymeric considered that to be the silver lining of Estinien's sudden, sorely felt absence. Though he deserved the peace and needed the time to himself, it still felt a bit like losing him again so soon after getting him back.

And now it was time for another farewell.

"Yes," Aymeric answered her while pushing aside the stacks of reports to be read, letters to be answered, and documents to be signed that seemed to multiply daily on his desk. "It's something that I heard—well, it was suggested that—that is, I suppose it would be best to just show you."

After clearing a space, he deposited a small pouch that clinked gently and could have been mistaken for a sum of gil. Upending it, however, spilled out a different sort of wealth that gleamed polished white in a multitude of dragon scales, freely donated, each fixed with a clasp to hang from a woven bracelet or an ear cuff.

X'sana stepped forward with wide eyes and an outstretched hand that halted over the gift, as if unsure whether it was all right to touch. "This... why so many...?"

Aymeric cleared his throat, mouth suddenly dry in a way that never happened when he was addressing the Lords and Commons, but was a repeat occurrence with her. "...I recalled what you told me about the tokens you carry, and how they originate from a custom in certain Miqo'te tribes. Naturally, I intended to give you something, and after some inquiries I... may have gotten a bit carried away. But if my presumption can be forgiven, and if you are willing, would you accept one of these as a symbol of your bond with those of us in Ishgard who call you friend—even family? As you can see, Hraesvelgr and his brood have also included themselves."

He separated two of the scales, pulling them towards himself. "For myself and Lucia, who are indebted to you in more ways than we can count."

Four more separated and grouped together at the side. "For House Fortemps, your most stalwart allies since the beginning."

One that stood boldly alone. "For Hilda and her surprising, yet invaluable acquaintance."

Two he pushed towards her. "For Lady Iceheart and her dream of peace that you were able to realize, and for our wandering dragoon, should you chance upon him."

The last he placed under her trembling fingertips, covering her hand with his own. He allowed himself that much selfishness. "For you, my dear X'sana. Beloved friend. Know that whatever happens, wherever you may go, you will take a part of us all with you."

Aymeric rose from his seat and leaned over her, placing a kiss upon the crown of her bowed head, breathing in the wintry, steel scent of Ishgard that clung to her for now but would evaporate once she left for lands beyond, to places unknown to him. An adventurer at heart, free as anything, taking her heart with her wherever she went. It had been his privilege to hold that brave, full heart of hers for a while. He would not soon forget—would not ever forget—the beat of it in his hands, strong and steady as befitted a hero; but it was a lonely heartbeat, too, with no one to stay by her side. So he would give her what he could.

She clutched at him with her free hand and pressed her face to his chest, shoulders shaking with a fragility that part of Aymeric was guilty of coveting. It was a side of her that would not be shared or spread in the stories, a side that for now, at this moment and in this room, was his alone.

"Thank you," she said. Her hand curled under his to wrap around the dragon scale, and then she was surging upward, planting her knees on top of the desk to throw both arms around him, papers scattering and getting mixed together but he couldn't bring himself to care about that with her slender waist under his hands and her soft words in his ear. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_."

She'd given him everything. Hope, a future, a fascination turned infatuation turned exquisite yearning that was like the sun rising and setting over and over again. This was not the sort of permanent goodbye that he'd been raised to callously accept. But some habits could not be done away with so easily, and as always, Aymeric held her as if it was the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, this was supposed to have at least two more scenes, but I decided not to write them because the chapter was getting way too long. This isn't supposed to be an Ishgard-centric fic! ~~That's the alt timeline fic I'll be writing later.~~
> 
> Planning to write only one or maaaybe two chapters for Stormblood, and then I can finally give catboy the attention he deserves.


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